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“A MODERN HERCULES," 


The Tale of a Sculptress, 




• MELVIN G. WINSTOCK, 


OF THE 

LEADVILLE BAR. 

AUTHOR OF 

^^A Western Politician/' ^^The Fatal Horoscope/' 
^^A Virginian Romance/' Etc. 


Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1899, by Melvin G. 
Winstock, in the office of the Librarian of Congress, 
at Washington, D. C. 


Herald Democrat Print, 
Leadville, Colo. 



TWO COPIES RECEIVED, 
tjbrary of Congresjjjj 
Office 0 f the 

Un, I - IHOl) 

fiegister of Copyrights;, 







\ 


49578 


SECOND copy. 




PREFACE. 


hotel Vendome, 

Leadville, Colo., October 31, 1899. 

TO THE Public : 

This City, surrounded by snow-clad peaks pointing 
To and almost losing themselves in the bosom of the 
Supreme Intelligence, has inspired my effort. The. 
volume is dedicated to ‘‘Ouida,” radiant also with 
inspiration. She lives. The novel is written from my 
play of the same title. 

The clergy at first may condemn the morale of my 
story, but upon reflection I think they will realize the 
injustice of such a course. There is no religion that does 
not preach that though men sin, true redemption may be 
accomplished by honest repentance and noble effort. 
My hero and heroine go through the valley of the Shadow 
of Death to cleanse themselves of impurity, and the story 
of their lives is a living, breathing sermon in itself. 

I have published my story here for the reason that 
the generosity of Leadville citizens has made it possible 
for me to place my work before the public. I trust it will 
meet with such success as it merits and no more. 


Melvin G. Winstock. 


"A MODERN HERCULES.” 

CHAPTER L 

''THE NUDE IN ART " 

Two things caused the great heart of New York society 
-to throb with unusual excitement. One was a marvelous 
work of sculptural art, where boldness in design and utter 
fearlessness in execution had almost affronted, and yet 
had won the plaudits of the cultivated of the Metropolis. 
Ouida Angelo, a woman in “A Grecian Temptress,’’ had 
dared to wring from men an absolute tribute to and 
acknowledgement of her genius and power. The second 
event was the announcement that Horatio Nugent, the 
great pulpit orator, would preach a sermon on “ The Nude 
in Art.” 

The wealth and fashion of the city sat spell-bound 
beneath the eloquent tongue of the great divine. The 
sad face of the Madonna, in the painted window of 
Geneva, grew sadder still as she looked down upon the 
favored multitude. There were present there, men who 
headed every published list of charity, who paid thousands 
for pew rental, in this great official residence of God, yet 
who had no compunction about wrecking a railroad and 
thereby indirectly spreading ruin among hundreds. In 
the front row sat a bank president, who knew that on 
the morrow his financial institution would be in irretriev- 
able ruin, yet who for months had been a pillar of the 
•church and had some of the congregational funds in his 
rapacious clutch. A poor wash woman or window 


6 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


cleaner, probably attracted by the magnetic tones of the 
stupendous organ, had dared to wander in. In simple 
ignorance she had probably imagined that Christ’s 
boasted friendship for the poor meant something to modern 
dogmatists, and had taken a seat high up among these 
mighty lordlings of this majestic world. The congrega- 
tion held its breath in amazement, and could not have 
been more shocked if the yellow fever in disguise had 
paid its fatal visit. This magnetic indignation communi- 
cated itself to an usher in full dress. He came forward 
and whispered something to the woman. She slowly rose 
and went up into the gallery. God had sold out all the 
down-stair seats to the rich ! The Madonna sighed in pity 
and was angry. The congregation breathed a sigh of 
relief. The church itself cost half a million. It had nO' 
reading room, free bath, employment bureau or lunch 
counter attached to it. It was open for about nine months 
each year on Sundays, and when a millionaire wanted to 
get married, or his heirs wanted to bury him, so they 
could get up a sensational will contest and make news- 
papers sell. Not far away from the church was a series 
of alleys, where poverty held supreme sway, and where 
the grim specter of want, filth and misery, stalked, deal- 
ing death, crime and agony, winning each moment recruits 
for the devil’s army in hell. 

I’ll not allow that rich woman over there to plead not 
guilty, upon the ground of ignorance of these conditions. 
She knows all about it, and yet to get those latest dia- 
monds that sparkle on her breast, she made her husband 
sell the farm, whereon his honest old rustic parents were 
buried. Over there sits a woman, who is unfaithful in 
heart to her marriage vows, and who yet lacks the cour- 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


7 


age to follow the bent of her intense longing, for fear of 
what her small world would say. In all of this artificial 
brilliance, there are masks and faces as false as many of 
the hearts which rich attire conceals. 

Notwithstanding all this, there was every inducement 
for real inspiration. The architectural beauty of the 
interior of the church was artistic to the nature, and soft 
and alluring to the eye. The place was decorated with 
beautiful pots, plants and flowers. Through the stained: 
windows a mellow light gilded rich carpets and soft 
cushions. The trained choir sang divinely while the 
organist thundered forth not only the wrath of the Deity,, 
but promised mercy, like the whisper of an angel, through 
the organ’s pipes. As the notes of the grand instrument 
died away in the distance, softly, like a summer sigh, a 
man of noble face and figure stood in the pulpit. 

It was the preacher ! 

He was young. His eyes were boldly black and 
brilliant. They sparkled like pure diamonds with feeling,, 
comprehension and intelligence. His head had the shape 
of a Roman God. His shoulders were square. He looked 
the very physical and intellectual giant that he was. His 
voice was flavored with magnetism that always distin- 
guishes the eloquent orator from the mere word absorber. 
He ran his long, shapely figers through his dark hair, 
shook his head like a lion, and plunged like a blooded 
courser into the very meat and marrow of his subject. 

‘‘Christ was insulted on Sunday last. This church 
was empty at service time, and all had forsaken Him to 
pay tribute to a woman’s vindictively immoral work. 
You who have built this religious palace to the glory of 
a mighty and eternal God, betrayed Him for the devil. 


8 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


For hark me, 1 tell you, that he who so prostitutes true 
art, be it man or woman, pandering to the depraved tastes 
of modern society, is but an agent of the King of Hell ! 

“‘A Grecian Temptress’ was, or is, its theme. A 
woman of form almost divine, enticing a youth of purity 
to voluptuous sin, while in the veiled background stands 
a Satan, holding sway over the temptress, while she is 
but serving her Master in alluring souls to the regions of 
perpetual darkness. 

“All true art leads to God. The tree, the earth, the 
sparrow, the eagle, the wheat, the stars, the beasts, man, 
are parts of a great and mighty network of machinery. 
All false art leads to God’s enemy, and sin, selfishness, 
voluptuousness, temptation and passion, carry with them 
and in them the seed of their own punishment. How 
dare these bold and brazen creatures, under the name of 
art, lay before the multitude chapters from their own 
devilish and inconsistent lives ? Yet the sin is not theirs 
alone. You who hear me are equally guilty, because you 
encourage them by your countenance and patronage to 
continue in their base course of debauching the public 
taste. We seek in vain for purity and find it swiftly 
fleeing, while in its place there is rising up a craving for 
sensationalism which is even reaching the pulpit itself ! 

“ Why should we follow ancient Greece 1 As long as 
the Athenian was stalwart, patriotic, full of rugged sim- 
plicity, the influence of Greece was all powerful in shaping 
the thought of the world and in moulding its history. 
But when its brave warriors, orators and poets sank into 
luxurious excesses, succumbing to vice, vying with each 
other in the mere promotion of enjoyment, its influence 
waned, its people degenerated, until today it is a memory 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


9 


only serving to teach the world, that its people as a nation 
were unfit to survive. And when Grecian methods per- 
meated Rome and Judea, these nations, too, became 
practically blotted out. Shall we permit American valor, 
patriotism and healthful vigor to have engrafted upon it 
these ideas so fatal to Greece, Rome and Judea } Shall 
we permit, by such an education of public morals, a 
gradual loss of respect of all those pure ideals taught by 
Him, who preached the sermon on the mount ” He 
paused here, but no one stirred. 

“ But this is not all. These Bohemian rebels, who 
create and produce and publish these things do worse 
than this. They make their own universe, enact their 
own laws, defy mankind, and yet society grovels at their 
feet and elevates all such so-called gifted creatures to a 
pedestal high above the church itself ! They are wor- 
shiped, and Christ, who made for man the most agoniz- 
ingly sublime sacrifice of which the mind can conceive, is 
insulted, neglected and made a common mockery ! 

“This woman Ouida Angelo, who gave to the world 
‘A Grecian Temptress,’ who is she ? A luring siren 
whose devotion to all that is voluptuous and sensual, 
reveals in her work only that which characterizes her 
ignoble life. She should be driven forth from achieve- 
ments, that alike disgrace herself, art and humanity. 
Instead of worshiping her with idolatrous affection, we 
should freeze her with a monstrous condemnation.” 

Again he ceased and staggered almost out of the pulpit 
as though filled to the quick with some strange emotion. 

A rustling gown with a queenly woman under it arose 
from a cushioned pew and majestically stepped down the 
aisle to the door. 


10 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


She was Ouida Angelo, the sculptress ! 

Just then a startling crash was heard, and the pane of 
glass, upon which had been exquisitely done the face of 
the Madonna, fell and broke into countless pieces. 

The sermon on “The Nude in Art” had done its 
work, and Monday’s papers were full of it. 


CHAPTER IL 

FROM POVERTY TO WEALTH. 

Ivan Strogoff was a Russian nobleman at the Univers- 
ity of St. Petersburg. Together with many of his noble 
colleagues, he imbibed radical theories concerning freedom 
and the abuses practiced by the imperial government. 
Added to this, he married a pretty but poor Polish girl, 
who died in giving birth to a son, Paul. Ivan one day 
was arrested, secretly tried and condemned to Siberia. 
He, however, bought his freedom from corrupt public 
officials, and fled to New York with his son. Then he 
began a battle with the world in which starvation and 
misery constantly held the upper hand. Nothing suc- 
ceeded with him. He could gain no foothold. His nature, 
naturally honest and bright, became soured, until at times 
he actually hated even his son, Paul. The latter was a 
noble specimen of physical humanity, and apparently 
seemed to thrive on the hardships which both father and 
son seemed compelled by cruel fate to endure. This- 
continued until Paul was about lo years old. Then it 
was that Ivan brought home one night a long envelope,. 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


II 


and while Paul slept in their garret in the slums, Ivan, 
his father, sat long into the night, until the candle burned’ 
out in the socket, reading documents with long, gold seals 
on them. It was a promise from an influential Russian 
official, toward a restoration of Strogoff’s estates, if the 
exile should return and swear anew his allegiance to the 
Czar. Now Strogoff’s vain struggles in the new world 
had sobered him. Many of the wild dreams of youth had 
disappeared, and- he was ready and quite prepared to 
accept good fortune again, even if it meant a sacrifice of 
those poetic dreams that had caused the misfortunes of 
his earlier days. 

He had but enough money left to barely get back to- 
St. Petersburg alone, and the great question was: What 
could be done with Paul ? He finally saw the keeper of 
the lodging, and received every assurance that Paul 
would be cared for until his father could send for him. 
So Ivan kissed the sleeping boy, and ere the sun had 
started on his course, was on the broad Atlantic, his brain 
busy with teeming projects for the newer and noble future 
that seemed to spread out before him. 

Politics in Russia, however, are even worse and more 
complicated than in New York under Tammany. By the 
time Ivan reached the seat of Russia government, his 
friend had lost imperial favor. The plots against the life 
of the Czar had rendered a restoration to wealth and 
power of great difficulty, and almost an impossibility. 
Then began a struggle which slowly but surely sapped 
the vital energy of the returned exile. Each day brought 
forth fresh complications. Three times during a period 
of ten years the poor devil was compelled to fly to save 
himself from the enforcement of the old sentence, that 


12 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


like the sword of Damocles, hung over him. But with a 
perseverance worthy of all admiration, he persisted, and 
something he could not define, would not let him die. To 
add to his misery, Paul had apparently been swallowed 
up, and never again while life remained, did the doubly 
unfortunate man ever hear of the boy he had abandoned 
to the cold charity of the New York lodging house keeper. 

At length the great day came ! Ivan Strogoff was 
ushered into the presence of the Czar, kissed the imperial 
hand, and once again trod his ancestral halls. But the 
struggle was too hard. All vitality had been sapped up 
in the battle, and the exile died before he had had time 
to enjoy his return to prosperity. 

Upon his bed of death he gathered to himself that 
trusty friend who had been faithful, and conjured him to 
search out Paul and in some way compensate him for the 
terrible injustice inflicted upon the abandoned boy. 
^‘Seek him out in poverty or shame, and win from his 
lips my forgiveness, or I shall not rest in Heaven or in 
Hell.” Consoled by the sacred promise of his friend so 
died he, and nature was gracious to vex his tired soul no 
more, for truly had the man endured an undue share of 
the mortal grief. But so is the world, and no man can 
■measure the amount of agony he can live throngh. He 
who fears death is a criminal and a coward. A man 
should so live his life that death is the most welcome gift 
-of nature. 


CHAPTER IIL 


PAUL BECOMES A THIEF. 

The next morning after Paul’s father had gone, the- 
lad arose, dressed himself and waited for breakfast, of 
course in vain. 

“Come, boy,’’ said the lodging house keeper, “eat 
with me.” 

“Where is my father ? ” said Paul. 

“ Gone.” 

“ Gone where ? ” 

“ Far away, boy ; even over the ocean. He will send’ 
for you.” 

Paul said nothing. He did not even shed a tear, as 
many a lad would have done. There was the blood of 
the Cossack in his rugged nature. Even at his small age- 
he did not and would not wear his heart upon his ragged 
coat sleeve. But he was full of bitter thought. He 
became a miniature stoic. He munched his humble 
breakfast in silence. 

At first he was treated with a fair degree of kindness 
by his rough, rude and miserly guardian, but when days, 
weeks and months came and with them no remittance 
from the struggling father in Russia, the guardian of the 
lad became sour, morose, vindictive and cruel. One day 
he beat the boy, and became greatly enraged because he- 
could not make Paul cry or show by word or sign that 
the beating gave him pain. Paul stood the abuse like a 


14 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


dog, but he grew. One day, feeling within his loins the 
strength of a lusty young giant, he arose and whipped his 
persecutor like David did Goliath, and fled out into the 
fathomless streets of New York. 

That night he avoided the police and slept in a dry 
goods box in an alley. He awoke cold and shivering. 
His stomach ached with hunger. Health, youth and vigor 
conferred on him a monstrous desire to eat. As he sat in 
his alley he heard the growl of a dog. Looking up, he 
saw a plate full of meat scraps. The dog growled with 
satisfaction at his contemplated feast. Now, it seemed a 
strange and unjust thing to Paul that a dog should enjoy 
plenty, while he, a human being, had nothing. So with 
the instinct of the barbarian, he proceeded to dispute the 
dog’s right to the whole of the tempting banquet. So the 
boy and the dog fought desperately for the food. The 
boy won. But even then Paul was too^honest to appropri- 
ate it all. He fairly and justly divided with his late foe. 
So if Paul was a thief, he differed from the common kind. 
The banker and stockbroker steal on a large scale, for the 
excitement afforded in legalized robbery. The boy stole 
from necessity. He and the dog in silent sympathy be- 
came friends, and went out in the world together. 

That night they slept in a boat, and in the morning 
were out at sea, their craft having been attached to a 
schooner. They were discovered and taken on board, 
where Paul was put to work. He, however, got back to 
New York. He never parted with the dog. They had a 
great time in starving together. Paul held horses, 
blacked boots, sold newspapers, carried satchels, and, in 
spite of all hardships, privations and miseries, grew up 
tall, muscular and of wondrous physical beauty. He 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


15 


never was a thief but once, and had spent some years of 
devotion in paying his victim for the theft. 

One day Paul was passing a great brown stone palace. 
A man was carrying in huge blocks of marble. He called 
on the boy to help him. Paul readily assented. 

In one of the rooms stood a majestic woman. When 
Paul’s eyes fell upon the vision he dropped his burden, 
and as it crashed upon the floor he stood like one trans- 
fixed. To his starving, neglected, hungry soul it seemed 
as though some goddess had dropped to the earth from 
the stars, and the woman looked at him with uncommon 
interest. 

In a voice that thrilled him with unknown, undefina- 
ble, undreamed-of longings, she said, “ I want you.” 

“Yes,” he said, as in a dream. 

Thenceforth Paul Strogoff entered the household of 
Ouida Angelo, the sculptress, as a model. For the first 
time in his life, he felt that he was human. 


CHAPTER IV* 

THE GREAT SENSATION. 

Monday’s papers were full of Dr. Nugent’s sermon, 
and its sensational termination. Tongues wagged fierce 
concerning the artistic creation, its creator, and the fear- 
less, the eloquent divine. 

\JHew York Her aid. 1 

“The sensation of the season has arisen out of ‘A 
Grecian Temptress,’ by Ouida Angelo. Only crude. 


i6 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


narrow and dogmatic opinion condemns. The liberal and? 
artistic world welcomes the work and its producer, and 
New York is to be congratulated upon the priceless pos- 
session of a genius who has obliterated sex in the grand- 
ness of her conceptions, in the boldness of her execution 
and in her wondrous grasp of poetic imagination. Dr. 
Nugent has made a fearful mistake, and his attack upon 
the work and the woman in his pulpit yesterday, was the 
pursuit of a course altogether at variance with his usual 
conservatism. He has, if possible, defeated his very 
object by the bitterness of his denunciation. For it is a 
known fact that New York breaks its neck to see any- 
thing which is even nastily described, and ‘A Grecian 
Temptress’ will now be viewed by thousands who, but 
for the preacher’s invective, would never have known of 
its existence. The learned doctor of divinity in future 
would do well to confine himself to biblical subjects, and 
leave artistic discussion to those who can appreciate.” 

[View York PostJ] 

New York has the greatest things of any city in the 
world, and we have added to our proud possession in the 
shape of Dr. Nugent, whose courage has won the admira- 
tion of all classes of the community. Some years ago an 
adventurous and audacious creature established a studio 
in this city, and has since palmed off upon certain hyster- 
ical newspaper men and old maids sighing for excitement, 
some vulgar carvings, and by pandering to depravity and 
licentiousness, has contrived to secure a certain idolatrous 
following. Dr. Nugent, in the face of her admiring 
adherents, many of whom are members of his own con- 
gregation, has had the courage to read New York a much- 
needed lesson. In an age when so many preachers speak 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


17 


to please their rich constituencies, it is indeed refreshing to 
find one man who preaches his convictions, regardless of 
consequences. ‘A Grecian Temptress,’ by Ouida Angelo^ 
is a dangerous work of art, because of its very seductive 
quality. To the youth of our land it is suggestive of 
pernicious evil. The Society for the Prevention of Vice 
would do well to spend less time in hindering the Turk- 
ish dance, and more effort in the prevention of the 
prostitution of pure marble to such ignoble ends. The 
Post appreciates Dr. Nugent’s honest efforts in the cause 
of public decency. We have recently been cleansing the 
political atmosphere. Let us second every honest effort 
to purify public morals.” 


\_Puck.'] 

“A great clown has appeared in the pulpit arena, and 
he shows every Sunday at a great and fashionable church. 
True, the audience does not laugh aloud. They do it in 
their sleeves ; nor do any swallow the medicines pre- 
scribed by this theological quack. The listening folk 
wait till they get out. They then sneak around the 
corner and devour the forbidden fruit. Churches are fast 
adopting the methods of the circus, and we may soon look 
for the deacons to hire space on bill boards, and there, 
in all the colors of the rainbow, we will see pictures of 
hell, heaven and many other strong features of the regu- 
lation religious bill of fare. Suppose Ouida Angelo wants 
to carve a pretty woman’s leg. Don’t we know that such 
things exist, even though sometimes the shape is not 
real Shame upon you. Dr. Nugent ! Have you not a 
large enough task to look after the morals of your own 
flock, that you must forsooth hold up to public ridicule. 


i8 A MODERN HERCULES. 

the greatest genius which New York has seen for a 
century ? ” 

[C/yVw York Journal,'] 

“ Ouida Angelo should now die happy. She has been 
outrageously criticised by the scribblers of a subsidized 
press until they have absolutely won for her a niche in 
the temple of fame, and now, to cap the climax, she has 
at length antagonized the church. A noted preacher has 
set all tongues wagging, and blood-tingling murders, ship- 
wrecks, are forgotten in a universal discussion over a 
piece of marble statuary. The learned doctor says the 
artist is sensational, and yet he proceeds to undignify the 
church by bettering her instruction. He says she is 
vulgar, yet he vulgarizes a noble theme by becoming 
■offensively personal. No one can quarrel with his right 
to say what he pleases about a work which has become 
public property. But he has no more right to discuss 
what he pleases to term her private life, than he has to 
attack the character of the richest member of his congre- 
gation. Who authorizes him to set himself up as a judge 
and executioner of the character of his fellows Among 
people of all classes there is a growing disrespect for the 
mere ecclesiastic, and such sermons are aiding to bring 
the church into public contempt. This is gravely to be 
regretted, especially in this instance, as Dr. Nugent was 
rapidly forging to the front as a liberal and intelligent 
public speaker, and this ill-considered effort will un- 
doubtedly tend to lessen his great influence as a public 
speaker.” 

The preacher sat alone in his study, a prey to many 
conflicting emotions. He had read all the journalistic 
comments on his sermon, and was filled with mighty 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


19 


■discontent. For months he had known the woman he 
condemned, and in his inner being there had been aroused 
for her, a strange interest. To him, she had unfolded 
many of her artistic dreams, but he did not comprehend, 
for he had been nurtured in a narrow school, and had 
embraced in his smooth and successful career, but few of 
fierce experiences. Nor was he completely assured of the 
sincerity of his motive. A dim, shadowy belief was 
slowly forcing its way through his consciousness that he 
had spoken for other purposes than the mere desire to 
uplift and purify public taste. He had learned to realize, 
inconsistent as it may seem, that the woman was really 
noble of heart and character, but his education and environ- 
ment made him believe that she was debasing the noble 
gifts with which Nature had endowed her, and he was 
preaching as much to the individual woman as he had 
apparently been preaching to the public mind. The com- 
plex nature of his attitude to the great question troubled 
him, and a furrowed brow and anxious eye told a tale of 
mental agony. Now that he had spoken, he was filled 
with a grave doubt as to the righteousness of his conduct, 
and he was paying the penalty of all men who are sensi- 
tively moulded. Then the thought came to him that he 
was using his pulpit, not for mankind but for himself, and 
he questioned his right to such a course of action. He 
could not, and would not, deny to himself that the artist 
possessed for him an enormous attraction. A vague 
dream had often come to him that he could breathe into 
her soul nobler and purer dreams, but he put it away each 
lime with a weaker struggle against the passion that 
slowly made its inroads into his soul. She was a Bohe- 
mian. She broke all links in the chain of custom and 


20 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


established precedent. She exhibited a reckless freedom 
in the comradeship of men, that maddened and frenzied 
him, yet he was speechless. He would crush this out of 
her, drive her from this insane, voluptuous life, and uplift 
her to his higher sphere, where her true nobility of char- 
acter might be exercised, freed from the Bacchanalian 
influences of her mad life. Gradually, as he thought, he 
was ashamed to think how much of personal longing had 
crept into a sermon which should have been delivered in 
the honest work of his sacred profession. 

He awoke from his fevered self-examination, and but- 
toning his great coat around him, went out upon his daily 
visits to the poor, for, though he was accounted a great 
and fashionable preacher, he stole out daily to haunts 
where misery dwelt, and the greater part of a magnificent 
salary went annually to places unknown to organized and 
oificial charity, and he was almost afraid that people would- 
find it out ! 


CHAPTER V. 

SATAN REBUKING SIN. 

Among the many great houses in this metropolis, none 
were more artistically and voluptuously arranged than the 
mansion of Ouida Angelo, the sculptress. There were 
parlors and drawing-rooms, a study, a library, dining room 
in exquisitely carved oak, while the boudoir of the artist 
was a perfect dream. She had costly paintings and pieces 
of marble statuary for which a monarch would almost give 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


2 


his crown, and all arranged and placed with perfect artis- 
tic and poetic taste. Ouida’s boudoir was palatial with its 
tiger skin rugs, couches, mirrors and jeweled cases. Her 
sleeping couch was draped in richest silks, and was as soft 
and as alluring as ever enticed to sleep the troubled head 
of a queen. 

On leaving the church, Ouida had entered her carriage, 
in which, by an imperious wave of the hand, she had been 
driven quickly to her residence. There, with the assist- 
ance of her sweet-faced maid, she had disrobed and was 
quickly attired in a soft and clinging negligee apparel, 
which women delight in, and which men cannot describe. 
This done, pointing to the door, she almost fiercely said : 
‘^Go!” 

The little maid stood a moment, amazed, for never 
before had her mistress been so harsh, but slowly she 
turned and silently moved toward the door. Ouida, 
quickly shamed into atonement, said : “ Lucile ! ” 

Quickly and gladly the joyous girl bounded back, and 
almost tearfully said : ^Ms my mistress angry with me ” 
Child,” said Ouida, ‘M angry with you!” The 
great creature stooped and kissed Lucile’s forehead. “ I 
am troubled with the nasty world.” 

Left alone, the artist paced the floor of her boudoir 
like a lioness from whose breasts her cubs had been rudely 
torn. 

‘M hate them all. None can be trusted. This one 
seemed nobler than the rest. 1 revealed more of the 
woman in me to him than to any creature born. See how 
he repays me, my art. 1 could forgive him who preaches 
against my life, for 1 have given the world the right to 
talk ; but when he attacks true art, the Goddess at whose 


22 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


shrine I worship, when he ridicules my religion, I feel as 
though my heart would crack with rage. 

“Bravery, thou art extinct, and there is a premium 
placed on public cowardice. He attacks me from a safe 
place, behind the battlements of the pulpit. I indulged in 
the vain hope of having won the respect of one honest 
man, among the contemptible puppies by which I am sur- 
rounded, and I find that he, too, has a narrow, putrid soul. 
He wants to enhance his reputation at my expense. A 
vulgar woman would horsewhip him. I cannot so com- 
monize myself. A barbarous woman would kill him, a 
bold woman would insult him. My vengeance upon him 
shall not be commonplace. 

“A fool, too, he is. There is no wisdom in him. Does 
he think he can rob me of the affection of New York ? 
What idiotic nonsense ! Not a thousand sermons could 
do that. My place in art is greater than his in the church. 

“Ah, I have it! Til make him supremely ridiculous, 
ril make the city laugh at him. Til carve a work with 
him as central figure, and I’ll christen it ‘ Satan Rebuking 
Sin.’” 

Like a woman, she laughed at the cleverness of her 
conceit, dressed and took a fierce drive through Central- 
Park. 


CHAPTER VL 


A LAWYER^S STUBBORNNESS, 

Edward Salmon was one of the brilliant and successful 
lawyers of New York. His office contained family secrets 
that would tear wide open the very vitals of society, if he 
but chose to speak. But he was oily and discreet, and 
maid, matron, and millionaire as well, knew that what 
went into that massive safe and into Salmon’s wily brain, 
never came out again unless it was proper. That was 
the reason of his great success. Mr. Salmon was a great 
success. He had a wondrous practice, a splendid library, 
a rich and lovely home ; but he had a daughter, Marie, 
who had seen fit, as young girls will do sometimes, to fall 
in love without parental consultation, and the result was 
that both father and daughter were very unhappy. She 
would not yield to his wishes, and he would not consent 
to the man of her choice. Now, Milton Royle, the sweet- 
heart of Marie, was a noble fellow, but twenty years priof 
to the commencement of this story, Royle’s father and the 
lawyer had a great difficulty over a law suit, and Salmon 
had never forgotten or forgiven what he had always 
alleged, was the betrayal of Royle’s father, and he had 
sworn that he would rather see Marie go wifeless to the 
grave, rather than that she should marry a man in whose 
veins flowed the blood of the elder Royle. In all other 
respects he was an indulgent parent, and was particularly 
tender to Marie, as the girl had lost her mother, and was 


24 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


almost alone in the world, not liking or indulging in the 
usual frivolties of society and fashion. Her life was spent 
in art, and among artists. She was a great friend and 
admirer of Ouida, and it was at the studio of the latter, 
where she had met young Royle, who was one of the 
students much favored by the great sculptress. 

Salmon was in his olfice dictating a number of very 
important communications to his stenographer. Happen- 
ing to glance out of the window overhanging the street, 
he saw something that evidently caused him great annoy- 
ance. A moment later there was a quick, nervous rap at 
the door, and a young girl exquisitely dressed, entered, and 
coming up, threw her arms around the lawyer’s neck and 
kissed him. He received the embrace with coldness. 

Why, father, what is the matter ? ” said Marie. 

Matter ? It is ridiculous for you to ask such a ques- 
tion. I saw you just a moment ago on the street, part 
company with Milton Royle. You know you always dis- 
please me by your association with him.” 

can’t help it,” said the girl, her voice tinged with 
unutterable sadness. “I make no concealment of my 
love for Milton. 1 like to be with him, and am with him 
whenever he can spare the time from his studies.” 

“And yet you know it angers me beyond expression.” 

”And, I think, sir, without reason. You have not a 
word to say against Milton’s character, and because you 
had trouble with his father before we were born, you 
want to make us miserable.’ ‘ 

“ Now, Marie, you know that is not all. I want you 
to marry a man worthy of you.” 

” Then let me have Milton,” she pleaded. 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


25 


“1 want no artist in my family,” he sternly said; 
■^^they are all a shiftless and unreliable lot, and one was 
never known to make a woman happy. Their attach- 
ments are as fleeting as their artistic conceptions.” 

” Such argument will not move us. You know, father, 
I have some of your blood in my veins, and our race has 
always been stubborn.” 

The old man looked on his daughter with admiration, 
and going over to where she sat, he kissed her tenderly. 

” Now you are like the dear old dad you used to be.” 
She gently stroked his gray hair, and fondling him softly, 
said: “And you won’t be angry with my Milton any 
more ? ” 

“You sly pus; just like your mother was,” and the 
hardened man of the world breathed a touching sigh, in 
the memory of a past that was fraught with delicious 
happiness, but which had gone forever. 

“Not meaning to change the subject, my dear girl, 
but about a month ago I received a large mass of legal 
documents from Russia, which conveyed information 
of a very valuable character to a Russian lad, whose 
father had abandoned him here in New York City. I 
have had a horde of detectives employed, and they have 
been unable thus far to locate him. The last news is 
contained in a report today, that a person of that descrip- 
tion was employed somewhere in an art studio. Now, 
you get around among this class of cattle quite often. 
His name is Paul — ” 

“Paul Strogoff 

“ Yes. Do you know anything about him ? ” 

“ Yes. He is employed by Ouida Angelo as a model.” 

“ Good. The fee in the case shall be yours.” 


26 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


“ Cash.!^ ” cried out the mercenary little wretch. 

“ Yes, cash,” said the delighted father, and he forth- 
with went into the safe and brought a roll of bank notes,. 
which he gave to Marie. 

“Do you desire a receipt for this,” she said, with a 
smile. 

“ No,” said Mr. Salmon, “ but you might tell your old 
dad what you are going to do with so much money.” 

“ No, I cannot do that,” she replied, with assumed 
fear. 

“ Going to waste it on your staff of paupers 

“No.” 

“ New dress.? ” 

“No.” 

“ Pray, what then.?” 

“Going to buy Milton a birthday present,” as in a 
mocking fit of laughter she skipped through the door and 
vanished from the office. 

“ The little devil has tricked me,” he said, but there 
was no anger in his tone. 


CHAPTER VIL 

OUIDA WILL NOT BE INTERVIEWED. 

When Ouida returned from her drive through Centra! 
Park, she found in waiting, Olivia Winters, special writer 
for the Daily Tattler. Now, Miss Winters was one of the 
most brilliant women of the New York press. She it was 
whom the World had sent to be knocked down by a 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


27 


moving car, so that the new style fenders might be 
properly described. The girl had also taken a balloon 
ascension, and written it up for her paper. She at one 
time spent three months as an inmate of a mad house, 
and as a result, had written such an exposure of the 
methods of the place, that the State Legislature had 
passed a new law for the government of such institutions. 
One of the girl’s crowning achievements, however, had 
been to interview the President of the United States at a 
time and upon a subject upon which other writers had tried, 
in vain, to get an expression of opinion. The only thing 
she had ever failed in, was in getting Ouida to talk, nor did 
she ever press the great artist, for she really liked her. 
Ouida had told her many things, but had always requested 
her to refrain from using them in the paper, and Olivia 
had always respected the confidence reposed in her, by 
keeping her word. No true writer will ever break faith 
under similar circumstances. 

Ouida did not keep her visitor long in waiting. A rap 
at the door was heard, and upon being bid, Olivia Winters 
entered the apartments of Ouida. 

“Ah,” said the sculptress, “ 1 am indeed glad to see 
you.” 

“That gives me hope,” said the writer. 

“ Of what.^ ” exclaimed Ouida. 

“ That you will break the silence you have maintained 
for years.” 

“Ah, dear girl, there you, no matter how delicately, 
have approached forbidden ground.” 

“ Have 1 offended you ? ” said Miss Winters. 

“ No,” replied Ouida, “if any one could have probed 
the mystery of my life, it would have been you.” 


28 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


“ I thank you at least for that slight evidence of your 
confidence and esteem — ” 

“ But,” said Ouida, interrupting, “I have taken Dis- 
raeli’s advice.” 

“And pray, what was that.^” inquired Olivia. 

“A young man, ambitious to succeed in public life, 
approached the great English statesman, and said : ‘ Mr. 

Disraeli, to what one great thing do you attribute your 
success in public life ’ The wonderful Englishman 
grew thoughtful for a moment, and said: ‘Well, sir, 
when 1 started out in public life, I resolved never to reply 
to what the newspapers might say about me.’ ‘ Good,’ 
said the young man, ‘ I will follow your advice,’ and he 
:started to depart. ‘ Hold ! young man,’ cried Mr. Disraeli, 

‘ let me finish my story.’ Continuing, he said : ‘ But on 

one occasion the London Telegraph came out with an 
accusation against me of so monstrous a character, that I 
felt constrained to deny it. And what do you suppose 
the damned rascally newspaper editor did ? Why, he 
proved it.’ ” 

Both women laughed merrily over the tale, which the 
Winters woman declared was in Ouida’s usually happy 
and clever vein. 

“ But, my dear Ouida, 1 came to see what you had to 
5ay about Nugent’s sermon.” 

“ Nothing.” 

“ Nothing?” 

“Absolutely nothing, my dear girl. If Mr. Nugent 
preaches against me, my art, it is because texts are 
scarce and he wants to draw a crowd.” 

“But, my dear Ouida, his personal, direct attack on 
you — you owe it to yourself to speak.” 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


29 > 


No, I shan’t help him advertise himself.” 

But even as she said it a cloud of vexation passed over 
her stately brow. 

'‘Then,” said Winters, appealingly, “nothing I can 
say will urge you to speak.? ” 

“ No, Winters, don’t try to make me deviate from that 
silent course I have from the very beginning mapped out 
for myself.” 

“ Well, then, 1 must go. But rest assured, our columns 
are yours at any time you desire to speak.” 

“Thanks! By the way, call at my box tonight at 
the opera. There will be a lot of fools in attendance, and 
I will need the exhilaration of a chat with one like you.” 

“Au revoir.” 

“ Until tonight.” 

And as Olivia Winters departed, her heart was filled 
with sympathy for the big-souled, independent creature 
she had just left, and she felt for her a deeper love and", 
affection than for any other woman breathing the breath, 
of life. 


CHAPTER VIIL 

PAUL HEARS GOOD TIDINGS. 

The very day upon which the Winters woman called 
on Ouida, in her unsuccessful attempt to secure an inter- 
view, Paul Strogoff, the model, paid a visit to the office 
of Edward Salmon, the shrewd and wily lawyer. 


30 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


The young Russian gazed with awe on the great array 
of books and files, and wondered what could possibly have 
been the reason why any lawyer should have requested 
his presence. 

After a while he was ushered into the presence of Mr. 
Salmon, and stood rather fearingly waiting for what was 
coming. He was rather like a dog at bay. He had had 
such an amount of silent agony throughout his life, that 
he was in that passive frame of subjected mind, that he 
was ready for and could bear almost anything. 

“ Take a seat, sir,” said Mr. Salmon. 

Paul dropped into the first chair, and still spoke not. 

“ I am a lawyer, sir,” said Mr. Salmon. 

“Sol saw by your letter head ; but how does that 
concern me.? I have no lawsuits.” 

“That may be true, but strange things come to us at 
times.” 

“ True,” said Paul, growing somewhat restless, “ why 
have you sent for me.?” 

“ Before I can entirely tell you, I must ask a few ques- 
tions, to which I must have frank and truthful answers.” 

“Having nothing at stake,” said Paul, “I have no 
inducement to lie.” 

“You are a Russian by birth .? ” 

“ I am.” 

“Your father abandoned you in this city years ago, 
returned to Russia, and you have not heard from him 
since .?” 

Paul jumped up. “ How do you know all this ” 

“Sit down and calm yourself,” soothingly said the 
man of law. “ I mean you naught but good.” 

“ Well, go on,” said the impatient fellow. 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


31 


“ He returned to his native land in the hope of recov- 
ering his ancestral estates, and was grievously disap- 
pointed, tricked and hounded for years. At last he won 
the great battle, and died. 

“ I suppose I should weep,” said Paul, “ but I am no 
hypocrite. I cannot forget these years of cruel abandon- 
ment and misery.” 

“But,” said the lawyear, by way of consolation, 
your future is full of promise and brilliance. There is 
absolutely not a single obstacle in the way of your com- 
plete enjoyment of a noble name and wealth.” 

“That may be true,” said Paul. “Fate has played 
him a scurvy trick to my advantage, but I have become 
bitter, my heart is sour with evil neglect. 1 have 
known starvation of body and soul ; I have craved love, 
sympathy, affection, and only a dog licked my hand. 
Nothing can move me.” 

“ 1 don’t blame you, my boy, but your future is more 
than bright.” 

“A new experience for me,” said Paul, who already 
felt as though a burden had been dropped upon his young 
life. 

“There are many complications likely to arise, in 
which you will need legal advice. May 1 consider myself 
retained in your behalf? ” 

“1 don’t know anything about these things,” said 
Paul, “ but do for me whatever is necessary.” 

“By the way,” said Salmon, looking at Paul 
shrewdly, “perhaps you need an advance of money. 
If so, 1 can supply you.” 

Paul laughed. “Me, money? Why, man, 1 have 
learned the lesson of starvation so thoroughly that I need 
nothing.’' 


32 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


“ You are a happy philosopher/' said the lawyer, and 
with a wave of the hand the interview ended. 

Paul departed in a more than reflective mood. 


CHAPTER IX. 

DECIDED BY LOT. 

It was evening, and three of the most prominent men 
of New York City confronted each other at the residence- 
of the sculptress. Milton Wayland, a noted stock broker,. 
Edmund Connors, a successful politician, and lago Doane,. 
an editor, formed the trio. 

“ I trust,” said Wayland, “ we may now and forever 
settle the question of superiority at whist.” 

“I did not come here to play whist tonight,” said 
Connors, frankly and boldly. 

“ Pray, then," said the editor, with ill-concealed sar* 
casm, “ what brought you here ? " 

“Are you my father confessor ?” said the politician. 

“ No," replied Doane, “ I have enough agonies of my 
own ; nor would I like to hold in my soul the knowledge 
of all your evil deeds." 

“Do you think a politician is worse than an editor? ” 
said Connors. 

“ Frankly speaking,” said Doane, “ no. The differ- 
ence in our deception of the public lies in the method 
only.” 

The men were evidently ill at ease, but all laughed at 
Doane’s boldness. 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


33 


“We poor monied men,” said Wayland, “seem to be 
altogether out of consideration.” 

“ How so said Connors. 

“ Because in this day and generation,” said Wayland, 
“thanks to Doane, the newspapers have killed our trade 
by exposing our tricks.” 

Connors looked on in grim satisfaction at the contest 
between money and printer’s ink, and quietly said : “ I 

am not so sure that newspapers are just what they 
should be.” 

“What’s the complaint against us? ” said Doane, in 
mock fear. 

“ There is as little honesty in journalism as there is in 
the world of finance,” said Wayland. 

“ Nothing truer was ever said,” chipped in Connors. 
“ The ordinary newspaper of today but reflects the cow- 
ardice of wealth. There is little of the sincerity of con- 
viction which prevailed in the days of Horace Greeley.” 

“They always cram Greeley down our throats,” 
cried Doane. 

“Well,” said Connors, “ wasn’t he a pretty bold and 
fearless man.?” 

“ I’ll admit all that,” retorted Doane, “but I never 
did worship at the shrine of any journalistic God.” 

“But,” said Wayland, apparently realizing that the 
argument was growing somewhat intense, “we have 
wandered some distance from the original query.” 

“And that was.? ” said Connors. 

“The real object of our presence here,” interposed 
the editor. “Come, now, what brought you here, Con- 
nors .? ” 


34 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


“I must yield,” said Connors, “ since the moulder of 
public opinion implores the mere politician to tell the 
truth.” 

“ Be careful,” said Wayland, “sensations may be at 
a premium.” 

“ Bah,” said Doane, in real anger, “ I never mix shop 
with social intercourse.” 

“Now,” said the wily politician, “don’t let us lose 
our tempers.” 

“I did not intend offense,” said Wayland. 

“And now,” said Connors, “since my friend has 
made the amende de honorable, I will state frankly that I 
came here to take Ouida Angelo to the Italian opera.” 

“And so did I,” said Wayland. 

“ That also was my purpose,” said Doane. 

“ Well,” sighed Wayland, “ it would be no fun for all 
of us to go together.” 

“ Nor,” said Connors, “can we very well divide the 
lady into three separate existences.” 

“ I suggest,” said Wayland, “ that we draw lots.” 

“ There,” said Doane, “again breaks out his natural 
spirit of speculation and chance.” 

“No intention to talk shop,” sarcastically retorted 
Wayland. 

This proposition finally proving agreeable, a simple 
plan of lot-drawing was indulged in by these favorites of 
fortune, the result of which was a victory for Doane. 

“ Doane always wins,” complained Wayland. 

“ I wonder if he plays fair,” spoke up Connors. 

“ Gentlemen,” said Doane, evidently gratified by his 
success, “don’t weep. Allow me to console you. She 
really cares for neither of us. Now, you are young. 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


35 


vigorous men. I am a free lance. I sleep all day ; work 
all night. You may have the hope of some day wedding 
decent, commonplace wives. Just the creatures to be the 
safe and proper mothers of your children. What matters 
it, if I, who hate everybody, and whom everybody hates, 
am swallowed up in the mad vortex of passion ? Society 
loses nothing, and gains a dainty bit of gossip to chew on 
for a month.” 

Ouida majestically burst upon them at this juncture. 

''So,” she cried, "you have been making me the 
subject of chance. Pray, what excuse dare you offer 
for such a profane proceeding 

"And, Ouida, you should have heard of the consola- 
tion he offered, as he gloated over his victory.” 

Without giving the sculptress a chance to ask, Doane 
quickly said: "I told them, madame, that you would 
marry neither of them.” 

" Did you insinuate that it was possible that I might 
marry you ? ” 

" No, but here, publicly, I proclaim the fact, that my 
newspaper and I are yours at a moment’s notice.” 

"Yes, your perpetual offer at times grows somewhat 
wearisome,” said Ouida, " but, seriously speaking, 
Doane, get a law passed which will allow marriage for a 
limited period, renewable at the option of the parties, and 
1 will try you for a brief period. The thought of being 
forever tied to one man appals me.” • 

"But,” remonstrated Connors, "you forget, dear 
lady, that sometimes offspring follows marriage.” 

" Bah,” said Ouida, passionately, " they ought to be 
throttled ere conceived. There are too many carelessly 


36 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


reared brats in the world today. It would be a good 
-thing to stop pro-creation for a generation.” 

There is really some sense in that,” thoughtfully 
reflected Wayland aloud. 

Ouida continued : “ The Romans were wise. They 

killed children not physically perfect. Pharaoh sacrificed 
the first born of the Jews. I see no cruelty whatever in 
the idea. But I will not continue this discussion. I am 
too full of anger.” 

“ Because I won .? ” said the editor. 

“ Partially so,” replied Ouida. “ I was not consulted, 
and 1 refuse to be bound by such a silly arrangement. 
Think you that one sour, dyspeptic, gossipy editor, would 
for an entire evening suffice me, especially at the opera, 
where one who listens to the music, is entirely out of the 
fashion ? ” 

“ But — ” the editor started in on a protest. 

“ 1 shall not listen to you,” cried Ouida, as she im- 
periously stamped her shapely foot, “ I will settle this 
matter by inviting you all to occupy seats in my box. I 
shall take no vote upon the matter, for well I know your 
acceptance is unanimous.” 

“But, madame,” protested Wayland, “this is most 
unkind ; you should not treat us as though we were chil- 
dren.” 

“I would you were as innocent,” bantered the lady 
of the house. 

“What do you know about us? ” said Connors. 

“Do you think I don’t get some compensation for 
allowing Doane among my intimates? ” said Ouida. 

“So he gives you the news, does he, before the dear 
public gets it ? ” said Connors. 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


37 


*‘A truce to this nonsense,” said Wayland. ^‘Gen- 
tlemen, what shall we do — accept the polite invitation of 
her royal highness ? ” 

“Accept,” said Ouida, in breathless indignation, 
“accept.^ Is there any doubt of it.? Oh, well, there 
need not be. I withdraw it — ” 

“Seriously ? ” said Doane. 

“ ril give a railroad,” said the stock broker, “ to make 
my peace with her.” 

“Now understand me,” said Ouida, imperiously, “I 
am not offended at anything any one has said. This, 
above all other places, is Liberty hall. Law, ordinary 
social rules, have long been banished, but as we were 
talking, I was seized with a monstrous, overwhelming 
inspiration. I must be alone tonight. 1 felt as though I 
might carve the boldest stroke of ‘A Modern Hercules.’ 
Go ! nor stay upon the order of your going.” 

No protest prevailed, and the trio left ; nor did they 
stop on the street to offer consolation to each other. 


CHAPTER X* 

A LOVERS^ QUARREL. 

While this most interesting affair was taking place 
between Ouida and her three admirers in one part of the 
house, another scene was being enacted in the studio, no 
less absorbing to the participants. Marie Salmon and 
Milton Royle, the art student, so objectionable to her 


38 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


father, were engaged in the most serious conversation of 
their young lives. 

“So,” said she, “you could not content yourself at 
Harvard ? ” 

“ No. The restraint imposed by the set rules of college 
was slowly sapping up and killing my ambition. So I 
came here to realize my artistic dreams.” 

“Your leaving the university, Milton, has seriously 
displeased me.” 

“In what way, dearest Marie ? ” 

“ Don’t attempt to mollify me by endearing terms^ 
Now, you know that you had been selected on the boat 
crew, and the girls have whispered all around that you 
were afraid to stay.” 

“And does my little sweetheart,” said he, with infinite 
patience, “believe that silly story? ” 

“Well,” she confessed, “of course 1 don’t exactly 
believe it, but the talk of the crowd hurts me. Then 
again, could you not study your art from a man ? ” 

“ Oh,” said Milton, thinking to himself that if jealousy 
was at the bottom of his sweetheart’s apparent anger, 
surely he could scent trouble ahead. 

“ Why don’t you answer ? ” she said. 

“ I was thinking.” 

“ You have no right to think. That is — I — well, 1 am 
almost beginning to hate Ouida Angelo.” 

“ Why, that is really absurd, little one.” 

“Milton,! hate all things that seem to lead you from me.” 

“ Nothing, and no one, can do that,” said Milton. 

“ You are with her hours and hours ; 1 almost forget 
how you look, 1 see you so seldom these days,” com- 
plained the girl. 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


39 

“Sweetheart, you are unfair. I am but working for 
that proud future which you shall share with me.” 

“ I should like more of present joy and less of future 
hope.” 

“ Is not the future,” said Milton, “ worth a sacrifice? ” 

“lam like a miser with his gold. 1 can spare nothing 
of that which is mine."' 

Milton seized her hand, raised it to his heart, and swore 
that his love was completely and fully hers. 

“Do you wish me,” he said, “to abandon my pro- 
fession? Say but the word, and 1 will.” 

“Would you do that for me?” almost whispered 
Marie. 

“As surely as I live,” he replied. 

“And do you think 1 would accept such a sacrifice ? ” 

“ Then my dear must not agonize me with these con- 
stant suspicions. They are unworthy of you.” 

“ Then you do not love Ouida ? ” 

“ 1 love the glorious art of which she is the mistress. 
I appreciate her because I grasp much from her cunning 
and deft craftsmanship. But you (clasping her to his 
breast) are the one woman whom Nature has sent for 
mating. Enough of this now. You do, you must, trust 
me. 

She let her head sink gently on his breast. The 
struggle was over, and the tear-dimmed eyes that looked 
into his had no doubt in them, for they were lighted up by 
a faith eternal. 

Arm in arm they went into Milton’s work-room, where 
for some time he delighted her with an exhibition of his 
work, the progress he was making, and he poured into 
her willing and sympathetic ear, the story of his future 


40 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


dreams and aspirations, so that she saw more clearly 
than ever, that the only mistress beside herself which 
Milton had, was Art. 


CHAPTER XL 

A PREACHER^S PASSION. 

The departure of the editor, politician and broker left 
Ouida in a very reflective mood. Strange to say, her 
mind wandered to Paul, the model, as it had often done 
of late. “ ril soon call my Herculean model forth. Paul, 
the perfect brute! Yet, often when he thinks I am not 
observing, there comes into his eyes a look that makes me 
tremble, though 1 know not why. Can it be that I, who 
have a dozen mighty men, as this world goes, crawling at 
my feet, am falling captive to a coarse-grained beast, that 
•sleeps and feeds from day to day throughout the year, 
without a thought or hope beyond the common cattle of 
the field? '' 

At this moment a card was handed Ouida, the reading 
of which filled her eyes with an almost devilish gleam of 
satisfaction. 

Show the gentleman up,” was her swift command. 

It was but a moment when Horatio Nugent, the great 
preacher, appeared before the sculptress! 

'' By admitting me to your presence, may 1 hope there 
is a truce between us? ” he almost humbly said. • 

Neither peace nor courtesy moved me to see you,” 
was her unsatisfactory answer. 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


41 


“ Then why your apparent graciousness.? ” 

“I desire,” said Ouida, “to declare a never-ending 
war.” 

“ Will you not,” appealed the preacher, “ even listen 
to what I have to say .? ” 

“No. Your course admits of no explanation. Let me 
tell you now, you can never creep again within the circle 
of my friendship.” 

“ If you could but dig beneath the surface,” he audibly 
sighed, “and see why I preached my sermon against 
the nude in art, ’twould beyou, not /, seeking pardon.” 

“ I seek your pardon after that which you have done .? 
Listen,” said the woman, “you played the part of a friend. 
You sought out. To you I unfolded my dreams, my 
conceptions. You said they were divine, and yet when I 
attended your church, you thundered forth invectives 
against my art, and hold me up to public ridicule. You 
would attempt to win a public applause as fleeting as the 
dew upon the morning rose. If 1 had loved you, 1 would 
hate you for this act.” 

“I will explain,” he said, with vehemence and com- 
manding power before which,' even for a moment, this 
imperious creature quailed. “ I am not like the vain 
flatterers that follow in your train. 1 will speak, even if 
the hate in you, like a dagger, shall stab me in a vital 
spot.” 

“ Speak then,” said she, with resignation. “Cour- 
tesy compels me to listen to one who has honored my 
humble roof with his august presence.” 

“Ah, hear me Ouida. The knowledge, sudden and 
fierce, has forced itself upon me, that I love you with all 
the strength of my nature ! ” 


42 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


“And you have selected this novel way of showing it!’^ 

As Ouida said this, she laughed with such chilling 
scorn, that it made the preacher shudder with agony. 

“ That we will not discuss,” said he, as the echo of her 
scorn died away. “Your life, your Bohemian instincts,, 
your defiance of social laws, has maddened me. I would 
drive you from this unreal existence, so that in your 
despair you would turn to me. Then I should uplift you 
to my grand sphere.” 

The idea of Horatio Nugent’s condescension struck 
Ouida with wondrous merriment, and she laughed again, 
the laughter growing more intense each moment, until it 
developed into an indignation almost boundless. 

“ Your own grand sphere ! ” she cried. “ Drive back 
the Atlantic surf ; lift valleys over mountain tops ; throttle 
Vesuvius, and then come to me with a hope of tearing me 
and my art apart. I would not exchange an eternity in 
hell and my work for Paradise with the crude, narrow, 
dogmatic officialism of your hypocritically pious life.” 

“ 1 have less quarrel with your art than with your 
life,” continued he. “These Bacchanalian revels, this 
freedom with men so maddening to me. These are the 
things from which 1 would save you.” 

“ Sir,” said she, with supreme dignity, “ my life is my 
own. Society did nothing for me. I have with these 
hands carved out my fame. You and your kind no more 
understand art, than you do the voice of Nature. 1 have 
sat nude beneath a master’s brush, without an impure 
thought. I have painted men as naked as the new-born 
babe, without a quicker pulse beat, wrapped in a dream. 
My art shall live when churches shall crumble, and 
preachers’ bones shall mingle with the dust. Divinity 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


43 


touches the brow of genius, and art becomes the heritage 
of generations yet unborn.” 

A goddess could not have looked more divine than this 
woman did, as she poured forth the inspiration of her 
swelling, throbbing soul. There was silence again be- 
tween them. But he at length recovered speech, and 
renewed the attack. 

“Ah, Ouida, you are noble and good ; why not econ- 
omize this worth for grander and purer aspirations ? ” 

“Purer aspirations ” she echoed. “Ah, sir, I am 
bursting with the fullness of rage. Who are you, that 
gives you the almost divine right to preach against a thing 
you know not of ? You have not looked on life ; you have 
tasted no agony ; you have not walked through the blaz- 
ing furnace of passion.” 

“ God alone knows what my battle has been since the 
knowledge came to me that 1 loved you.” 

“ Your passion, sir preacher, moves me not.” 

“Then, pitilessly, you will send me out into the 
gloomy world without a ray of hope? ” 

“ Did you not seek to make the earth for me a place 
without sun or light ? ” 

“ But 1 have made my atonement, and come now to 
crave pardon for my sin.” 

“ You cannot think thus to move me,” said the woman,, 
firmly. 

“Can nothing soften your heart of stone?” he ap- 
pealed. 

“Nothing, sir. I hate you strongly. If these were 
the days of Lucretia Borgia, without compunction I would 
have you killed. The world can do without you.” 


44 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


“And yet,” said he, softly, as though consoled by the 
thought, “ I have given up all for you.” 

“ I have seen nothing that you have done,” she said, 
sternly, “and more, I ask nothing of you, save that you 
walk your way, and leave me in peace to go mine.” 

“You know, Ouida,” said the man of strength, “that 
1, too, am ambitious ; that men and women showered upon 
me their plaudits ; that I had won a strong place in this 
great city. I have given up my church ! ” 

She started in breathless amazement! “Sacrificed 
your wondrous future, and for me .? ” 

And simply he said : “ The price of my sin to you.” 

Then a deeper silence than ever before fell upon these 
two, and again there was no speech between them. 

“Now,” at length, he said, “ I am ready to be sent 
forth with your cruel scorn, following me even to the end 
of time.” 

“ I cannot bid you go thus,” she said, moved to pity. 
•^‘Does the world know of this? ” 

“ Of the resignation, yes ; of the reason, no.” 

“Then 1 abjure you, reveal nothing. Leave me! ” 
:she cried. 

“And may I come again ? ” eagerly he pleaded. 

“Yes,” she said, the power of resistance gone, “ when 
i have had time to think.” 

He left with a sense of mighty triumph in his soul. 


CHAPTER XIL 


OUIDA PROPOSES MARRIAGE. 

Even the preacher’s passion, the knowledge of his 
awful sacrifice, did not rob the artist of her inspiration 
for work. Proceeding to the studio, filled with treasures 
of brush and mallet, she found Paul, the model, and Milton, 
the student. 

“Any commands for me,” said Milton, with deference 
and respect. 

“ Yes,” said Ouida, “ you may assist in arranging the 
pose.” 

Milton, for a few moments, attempts to place the model 
in the attitude, consistent with the conception of Ouida. 

“Ah,” reflected Ouida, aloud, “if I can but tonight 
imprint on stone the image that long has haunted me, “I’ll 
wring from men the unwilling confession that truly in my 
veins flows the blood of Michael Angelo.” 

Her unconscious talk was interrupted by Paul, who 
almost sullenly said : “ I do not care to work tonight.” 

“Hush!” said Ouida, “breathe not. 1 would not 
have had you fail me tonight for a brace of kingdoms.” 

She then crosses over to where Paul and Milton stood, 
saying to the latter: “Nay, not thus. Let him stand 
and look as though with mighty power he bears the 
weighty earth upon his massive shoulders. There, that 
is better. Go. Leave me, Milton ; 1 would be alone with 
him.” 


46 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


Then, like a tigress, rapidly she set to work with 
mallet and chisel, and while Paul stood motionless, 
scarcely daring to breathe, the idea that filled her brain 
and soul began to take living shape from the block of 
stone. At some length, however, she dropped her tools. 
They fell upon the floor with a dull thud. She crosses 
•over to the model ; then irresolutely retraced her steps, 
and threw herself upon a divan or sofa, as in a dream. 
There she lies motionless, save for a heaving breast. 

Paul thinks she sleeps, and leaving his station, goes 
to the couch whereon she lies, and gazes upon her with 
strange emotion. She still seems unconscious of his 
presence. 

‘‘ Had 1 Svengali’s power, Pd mould her to my will.” 
Paul clenches his hand together, gazes passionately at the 
reclining figure, and slowly moves back to his place. She 
arose. 

“ Paul, come near me,” she said, with a voice as 
:seductive as that of a luring siren, and sit upon this low 
stool.” 

This request was made by her following a flashing, 
unaccountable mental freak, that filled Paul with pleased 
astonishment ! 

I am your willing slave,” he said, as he did her 
L)idding. 

“ Do you love any woman } ” said Ouida. 

” I dare not answer,” said the model. 

” Dare not answer ? Have I not asked you ? What 
do you fear ? ” said the sculptress. 

” Myself,” said Paul. 

“He who cannot master himself is like the beast of 
the field.” 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


47 


“That’s what 1 am. What right have I to feeling, 
emotion ? ” said the model. 

“ Have you no hope for the years that are to come ? ” 

“ If I have, 1 hide it so that none may see. I had one 
hope, but it was like reaching out after a star. Do not 
question me concerning it. It shall never be revealed.” 

“ Paul,” she said, “ what think you of these men who 
crowd about me, like moths about a candle, their tongues 
quick with the hollow mockery of modern insipidity ? ” 

“They are false as Judas. They drink your cham- 
pagne, and then, when drunk, tell lies about you. I’d 
like to cut their throats, if you but speak.” 

“I’ll let you, in a way,” she said, looking into his 
black eyes with a boldness that made him breathe with a 
mixture of fear and delight. 

“ How ? ” said he, with almost breathless quickness. 

“Paul,” she replied, “come nearer to me. You are 
a strong-limbed brute. You are base born. You are 
poor.” 

He shuddered, and was about to acquaint the woman 
with the story which Lawyer Salmon had told him, but 
some power which controls fate and destiny, restrained 
him, and he remained silent upon the point. 

“ If all you say is true,” he uttered, “ What then ? ” 

“Ah, Paul, you are so different to the mere puppets 
that cringe around and flatter me.” 

“ If I were like these weaklings, 1 would not care to 
live.” 

“The very contrast attracts me,” said Ouida, dream- 
ily. 

“ My God ! ” said Paul, the truth at length dawning 
upon him, “can it be possible that you condescend to 
give me more than a mere passing reflection ? ” 


48 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


‘"There is, Paul. Can you not see that I adore 
you } ” 

In a moment their bodies were in close embrace, he 
enfolding her within his mighty and powerful grasp. 
After a moment, however, he put her gently from him, 
and said : “You but mock me by showing me a view of 
Paradise, only to snatch the entrancing picture from my 
eyes.” 

“ No,” she said, exalted through the intensity of her 
artistic emotion, “ 1 feel a strange, uncontrollable desire 
to own you, body and soul.” 

“I fear, I dream, 1 dream,” said Paul, but Ouida 
hurried on : 

“ You are a giant. You could take any one of these 
pigmies that flutter and buzz about me, in your arms, and 
could crush life completely out. I hate them all. I 
would throttle, and at the same time strangle, the indig- 
nation of society. I would bitterly enrage these dogs who 
fawn on me.” 

“And use me as the instrument.? What, then, shall 
become of me .? ” said Paul. 

“ You .? Why, Paul, you shall be the central moving 
figure,” said Ouida. 

“What care I? Use me as you will. ’Tis enough for 
me to know that you but reach your hand.” 

“Come to my arms then again,” she cried in the 
ecstacy of this novel and entrancing emotion. “Let us 
revel in delight, you pauper ! You dog ! You base born 
thing, to whom vile society would scarcely throw a 
crumb! ” 

“ Oh, the delight,” said Paul, “ of spurning these little 
creatures. A month of such sweet vengeance, and you 
may have my life.” 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


49 


“I’ll dress these mighty limbs of yours,” she oried. 
“ I’ll flaunt your very baseness in their eyes. I’ll make 
them crawl to you for the price of a smile from me. The^ 
shall pay in deepest humiliation for the privilege of ador~ 
ing me from afar. We, Paul, you and 1, will richly repay 
society for its wrongs to us.” 

She seemed now exhausted from the intensity of her 
feelings. 

“ Go now,” she said, tenderly ; and without question 
Paul went away from her, exalted, bewildered, astonished,, 
uplifted, amazed, but happy, and inwardly rejoicing at the 
wondrous change which had taken place in his fortunes. 
Poor fool ! From his dizzy height he saw not the chasm 
yawning in greediness below. 


CHAPTER XIIL 

A RICH MAN^S BALL. 

A great social leader of the Metropolis had given a ball, 
to which had been invited not only the “ Four Hundred,” 
but a large proportion of New York’s Bohemian Colony as 
well. 

Olivia Winters had been sent by the city editor of the 
Daily Tattler to get an account of the affair for her jour- 
nal. Her reflections as she sat waiting to see the hostess, 
or some one in her behalf, were neither pleasing nor 
flattering. “All the world’s a fake,” she thought, “and 
the men and women merely fakirs. Within a stone’s 
throw of this place there is a collection of miserable huts. 


50 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


From what I have seen so far here, at least 15,000 has 
been spent on flowers, that will before tomorrow night 
have lost their fragrance. How many mouths would that 
feed, in this great, cold, heartless city, throbbing with 
the agonies of thousands ! Ah, well, why should I mor- 
alize } I wish to heaven I could write this thing up as I 
feel, but to do so would be affronting fashion, and any- 
thing original regarding modern New York society, would 
mean my journalistic death.” 

Her reflections were interrupted by the entrance of 
Marie Salmon, who extended her hand graciously to Miss 
Winters, arid said : You are the representative of the 

Tattler ? ” 

I am,” said Miss Winters. 

The hostess of the evening presents her compliments 
to you, and begs that you will excuse her personal pres- 
ence. She has delegated me to act for her in giving you 
what you desire for your paper.” 

“ She could not have selected a substitute who would 
have better pleased me,” said Olivia, with perfect grace 
and self-possession. 

''You are very good to say so,” said Marie. "Here 
you will find a list of the invited guests. In this package 
is a cut of the host and hostess, as well as a picture of her 
diamonds. She informs me that she has already sent 
photos of some of the more striking decorations. In this 
envelope will be found a complete description of the cos- 
tumes of the ladies. The number of carriages you will be 
able to procure from the ushers as you go out. She 
thinks it not advisable to say anything specific about the 
enormous amount of money spent on the affair, owing to 
newspaper talk about the terrible poverty prevalent in the 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


51 


city. Is there any other information you desire ? If so, 
I shall be glad to give it to you.” 

Have you given this matter out to any other paper } ” 

“ No. Our hostess said she would give it exclusively 
to you, as your paper had been the fairest in mentioning 
the affair in advance,” replied Marie. 

“ Thanks ; that is very good. You know we newspa- 
pers always adore a scoop,” said Olivia, and she smiled 
in satisfaction. 

‘‘Why, what in the name of goodness is a scoop ” 
queried Marie. 

“ When we print a good thing that other papers fail to 
get, we call it a scoop.” 

“ Thanks for the information. May I not,” said Marie, 
order some refreshments ? ” 

“ No, thank you,” said Winters, with modest dignity, 
““ I only accept hospitality under certain conditions.” 

“ Be that as you wish,” said Marie, with equal dignity, 
'‘ I had no desire to offend.” 

“ I am sure of that, my dear young lady ; yet even 
newspaper women have their scruples.” 

“ Then I can serve you no further ? ” 

“ In no way save to assist me in getting out quickly 
and unobserved.” 

“ Then follow me,” said Marie. 

Olivia Winters followed her guide, and was soon in 
the otfice of the Tattler, pegging away, while Marie 
returned to assist the hostess in entertaining the numerous 
guests. 


CHAPTER XIV* 


AN ANGRY FATHER. 

There were many brilliant women at the great social 
function, but the only feast for the eyes of Milton 
Royle was Marie Salmon. But she was very much in 
demand. The hostess apparently had a mortgage upon 
the young girl’s time and attention. At length, however, 
Milton could endure it no longer. He marched down upon 
his victim, captured her, and forcibly led her to a quiet 
and secluded spot in the conservatory, determined to hold 
her captive until he should have accomplished his purpose. 

“I shall not see you again before my departure for 
Europe, so, my darling, I shall have to bid you good-bye 
here.” 

“ I could be completely happy, dear Milton, if it were 
not for dad’s frightful opposition to you.” 

He forbid me the house,” said Milton, sadly, “ but 
such a course only makes me more determined than 
ever.” 

“ You cannot imagine what a hard time 1 will have 
while you are gone. It was only yesterday dad told me 
that it would greatly please him if 1 would consider young 
Clafton as a suitor for my hand.” 

“What! That brainless ape.?” said Milton, indig- 
nantly. 

“ Now don’t get angry, dear ; you know very well if 
he were the last man on earth, I would not consider him 
for a moment,” she made haste to say. 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


53 


1 tell you what it is, Marie,” said Milton, “ I think I 
■will alter my plans and remain in New York, until we get 
this thing settled.” 

“And I tell you,” said the girl, firmly, “ you shall do 
nothing of the kind. Such a course on your part would 
make me think you had no faith in me.” 

“But it looks cowardly,” said he, “for me to go 
abroad and leave you to fight this thing out alone.” 

“ I am not a bit afraid. Besides, I am more than 
anxious that you should go to Rome and finish your 
studies. Nothing must be allowed to hinder that great 
and glorious future which must, which shall, be yours.” 

“ Now you are my brave darling.” He embraced her 
fondly, just as Mr. Salmon appeared upon the scene, an 
angry scowl disfiguring his usually calm and placid brow. 

“ I had hoped, sir, that your sense of honor would have 
prevented you from encouraging this young girl in a dis- 
obedience of her father.” 

“ Father, dear, I pray you refrain from speech of that 
kind to Milton. 1 love you, sir, with deep affection ; but 
I also love Milton, and 1 tell you now, as I have told you 
before, that if 1 live, and he still wants me, I shall marry 
him.” 

“ Marry, girl ! ” said the aroused father. “ I tell you 
that you will never have my consent to marry him.” 

“ Then,” said the girl, “ I shall marry him without it.” 

“ 1 regret, sir,” said Milton, with utmost deference and 
respect, “that trouble with my father, almost before I 
was born, should tinge and shape your opinion of me. It 
is most unjust.” 

“ Frankly speaking,” said the lawyer, “ I do not like 
you. I do not want an artist in my family.” 


54 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


'' You are her father, sir,’' said Milton, with suppressed 
anger, “ and that shields you from the answer that rises 
within me.” 

Marie interposed at this point, and said : ” You are 

both dear to me, and I beg you, in the name of the love 
you have for me, do not quarrel.” 

“ I obey your wishes, my darling,” said Milton. 

“ This is no place for discussion of this kind, anyhow, 
said Salmon. ” Come, Marie, Mr. Clafton was looking 
everywhere for you.” 

do not wish to see him, father. Good-bye,. 
Milton.” 

“Good-bye, Marie. May angels guard you every' 
where.” 

And there the lovers parted. The lawyer was full of 
anger, but he had no chance at that time to show it. 


CHAPTER XV* 

THE LOVERS CLASH. 

Among the guests were Horatio Nugent and PauF 
Strogoff, each madly, devotedly and passionately, at a 
distance, watching the Goddess, at whose shrine they 
worshiped. The preacher, in a rage of despair ; Paul, in 
secret consciousness of his advantage over all others,, 
despite appearances. Each held his secret well before 
the world, but in the breast of each was a raging volcano, 
liable to burst forth at any minute. Had any one sus' 
pected the preacher of the possession of so strange a 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


55 


secret passion, his story would have been discovered by 
the hungry, famished look of his eye, which followed the 
sculptress and her every movement. Strange to relate,. 
Paul exhibited more control over himself. 

Fate threw these two strongly-contrasted characters 
together, the flint and the steel. Horatio Nugent plunged 
at Paul boldly and fiercely, saying: “1 would study 
you.” 

“ Why.? ” asked Paul. 

“ Because you hold a secret power 1 would give my 
life to know.” 

“And that is.? ” 

“ The power of winning her regard.” 

“1 would not yield it up for a thousand lives, mine 
included,” said Paul. 

“ So you are a victim, too.? ” said the preacher. 

“Nay, not a victim,” proudly said Paul. 

“ She loves you .? ” said the preacher, eagerly. 

“ 1 did not say so.” 

“And yet 1 think my words are true.” 

“ Your opinions do not concern me,” said Paul. 

“ They may,” said Horatio Nugent, throwing discre- 
tion to the winds, “for I love her, too, and if you stand 
in my way — well — it will do you no good.” 

“You are like the rest of your kind — boastful,” said* 
Paul, conscious of his own power, “ but in me there is no 
fear.” 

“Do not, 1 pray you, urge me beyond control,” said 
the preacher, “ or you will be made to feel there is some- 
thing beyond mere brute force.” 

“This masterly tone,” said Paul, “must cease. I 
have no liking for you, sir ; you hang about the lady's 
skirts too much.” 


56 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


“And what is that to you? Are you her protector? 

Ouida approached, having from a distance observed 
that a clash had occurred between these two men. 

“ There comes the.lady,” said Paul ; “let her answer.” 

“I am heartily ashamed of you both,” said Ouida. 

You have selected a most inappropriate place, as well 
as subject, for discussion.” 

The preacher looked ashamed of himself, but Paul, 
now thoroughly aroused, was almost bursting with defi- 
ance ; but Ouida had him absolutely under control, and 
when she commanded him with decisive voice to bring her 
an ice, he went, submissive like a dog. 

“And you, sir,” turning to the preacher, “ what right 
"have you to give way to vulgar differences with Paul? ” 

“ I have no excuse to offer, save my adoration of 
yourself,” said he, humbly. 

“Why vex your soul? ” said she filling up with won- 
•drous pity for the man. “Your torment of yourself is 
•useless. I am further from you today than ever before.” 

“ How is this, madam ? Is there absolutely no hope 
ior me ? ” 

“None, sir. The barrier between us can never be 
broken.” 

“And what is that barrier ? ” he said, a mighty 
despair getting its grasp upon him, for he noted the deadly 
•earnestness of her speech. 

“The obstacle is Paul,” she confessed. 

“Your big-limbed model ? ” He would not believe it. 

“Even so,” said the woman, as she bowed her head. 

“And how is he in my way ? Would you stoop to 
Tiim ? ” 

“Stoop, sir,” she said, her pride returning, “I have 
sworn to marry him.” 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


57 


He staggered with a nameless fear. 

“ But you do not love him,” he said. “You cannot 
blind me.” 

“ I have no desire to do so. I simply tell the truth.” 

Nor could he fail to be deeply impressed with her 
simple dignity. 

“ Listen, woman, I care not whose heart I break, you 
love me ! Deny it if you can ! ” 

“ If I did, what would be the difference? ” said Ouida. 
“ 1 have sworn to wed him. 1 led him on. He did not 
dream of me, until I made him drunk with the promise of 
my life. He has done no wrong. 1 must bear the grief.” 

“Then all 1 have given up is naught to you? You 
will break my heart and crush my life without a tear ? ” 
said he. 

“ Rather yours than his. Come, be a man ; wound 
me no further,” she pleaded, earnestly. 

“ 1 cannot break a single link in the awful chain of 
fate,” and he bowed his head in ‘silence. 

“ Do with me as you will.” 

“Have you still the power to marry?” she asked. 

“ Yes, I have given up my church, not the ministry.” 

“Then will you do me one last favor? ” she appealed. 

“ Be your fate what it will,” said he, “ 1 am still your 
slave.” 

“ Marry Paul and me,” she pleaded, as though upon 
the answer depended her life or death. 

“ Dare you ask this of me? ” 

“ 1 do, and pray you ask me not why.” 

“I have not the courage nor the strength,” said he, 
suddenly, filled up with a great weakness. 

“ Have I naught to suffer ? ” she said, in great grief. 
“ Will you compel me to go through it all alone ? ” 


58 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


ril do it,” said he. “ I cannot enter deeper into the 
vale of suffering than 1 am now. You have stolen from 
me the power of resistance. Now, 1 pray you, let me go.” 

As the preacher passed from her, Paul returned, look- 
ing dark and gloomy. 

“There is your ice, Ouida,” said Paul, striving to 
control himself. “ Would that my heart were like it, so 
that you might devour it. 1 do not like that man.” 

“Why, Paul.? ” 

“He comes too often to you. Nay, do not deny it. 
He loves you, but you do not love him,” he fiercely said. 

“ I — I — ” hesitated Ouida, for a moment losing her 
self-possession, under the influence of Paul’s questioning. 

“ But you do not love him,” he repeated again, as he 
seized her arm, almost roughly. “ If 1 thought you did — 
well, you know the blood of the Cossack is in me, and — ” 

“You will kill him .? ” she passionately uttered, and 
she clung to Paul as though holding him from the accom- 
plishment of such a purpose. 

“ Now, by my life,” he said, looking searchingly at 
her, “this sudden interest almost makes me think you do 
care for him.” 

Again her complete mastery over his simple nature 
exhibited itself. 

“ Paul,” she said, in that alluring tone which always 
brought him to his knees, “you are beside yourself. 
You have naught to fear of me with him. He has just 
promised me to marry us tomorrow night.” 

“So you have fixed the time at last,” said Paul, 
exultingly. “This is noble, oh, so good of you. This 
joyous news compensates me for a world of agony and 
doubt. Would to God tomorrow night were here,” said 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


59 


he, completely satisfied. “ Come, let us to the ball room. 
1 heard your editorial friend, Doane, swearing a moment 
ago that you had promised to waltz with him, but that 
you had secreted yourself to escape his clutches.” 

” True, I had almost overlooked that. I wish I could’ 
educate Doane once in a while to say a kindly thing, but 
I fear the task is a hopeless one.” 

She was much relieved that the trying scene had; 
ended, and with no disastrous results. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

PAUL COMPLETES A STORY. 

Despite the difference in their dispositions, something 
usually brought Doane, Wayland and Connors together. 
So about midnight, at the grand ball, this trio found them- 
selves together in one of the apartments of the great 
mansion. 

Connors, the politician, started to talk. ” If Sarah 
Bernhardt were here,” he said, ” she’d take a bath in the 
wine we have wasted tonight.” 

” The frail Sarah has much faith in this method of 
preserving health, as did old Ponce de Leon, in the long- 
sought-for fountain of immortal youth.” 

” By the way,” said Doane, ” did you hear the story 
they tell on the actress, while on her late Western 
tour ? ” 

” No,” they exclaimed, ” let us have it.” 


>6o 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


Well,” said Doane, in great relish, for he did love to 
tell a story, when she played at Seattle, she expressed 
a desire to have a vivid, real live hunt. An old trapper 
near by had some tame bears, and the newspaper boys 
put up a job on the fair French woman. She dressed 
herself up in a male attire, went out into the woods, a 
perfect nimrod. She was hauled over logs and creeks, 
and finally, in a moment of ecstacy, she was permitted to 
kill a bear. She was the happiest woman, for a day, upon 
whom the sun ever shone.” 

They had a hearty laugh. 

“ I saw in your paper the other day, that some fool 
•out West had attempted to dramatize Victor Hugo’s * Les 
Miserables.’ ” 

“ If you saw it in my paper,” said Doane, “ be care- 
ful. 1 missed a train a few days ago by depending on 
the accuracy of my own journal.” 

“But what do you think of the idea? ” queried Con- 
dors. 

“In these days,” said Wayland, “when managers 
are crazy for a new idea, it seems to me that a clever 
stage story of Jean Valjean would make a certain hit.” 

“ You might as well try to dramatize the clouds, the 
great rugged mountain peaks,” said Doane, scornfully, 
“ as anything Victor Hugo wrote. No man under forty 
can grasp the real philosophy of Hugo. How, then, can 
the unintelligent masses hope to comprehend him? Con- 
nors, you are a great politician, but you are not over- 
burdened with dramatic knowledge.” 

“ 1 wrote a play once,” said Connors. 

“ Was it produced ? ” asked Wayland. 

“ Yes, for three consecutive nights.” 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


6e 


“And what became of it then? ” laughed Doane. 

“ The fourth night,” said Connors, sorrowfully, “the 
leading man did not appear. He afterward explained 
that he could not stand the forcible appreciation of the 
admiring gallery.” 

The trio talked, smoked and sipped champagne for 
quite a while. Suddenly it occurred to the editor that it 
was about time for him to fill an engagement in the ball 
room. 

“By the way, 1 promised, after considerable persua- 
sion, to dance with Ouida,” said Doane, “ and even my 
gout shall not deprive her of that pleasure.” 

“ The conceited wretch,” said Connors. “ He talks as 
though he conferred a favor.” 

“I do,” said Doane, as he went off in search of his- 
partner, “ there are but few women in this world I would 
really dance with.” 

He returned in a moment, mad as a March hare. He 
had been too late, and fifty had pleaded for his place upom 
her programme of dances. 

“A most remarkable woman,” said Connors. 

“Peculiar, isn’t it, how a person like her could so 
have mastered the world?” observed Wayland. “I 
have heard that but a comparatively few years ago 
she was the most common and obtainable creature on the 
streets of New York.” 

“I care not what may have been her past,” said 
Connors, with comparative warmth, “ today she is verily 
a mistress of her art.” 

“She is now putting the finishing touches,” said 
Doane, “on ‘A Modern Hercules,’ a work which, in my 
judgment, compares favorably with that of the ancient 
Italian artists.” 


62 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


“By the way,” said Wayland, “did you hear of her 
scrape with Cardinal Beppo, at Rome ? ” 

“Yes,” said Doane, “but tell it for the benefit of 
Connors.” 

“You see,” said Wayland, “ Ouida spent some time 
in study at Rome. For a few months she worked hard, 
and behaved herself quite well, but one sunny day she 
captivated the Cardinal, and so complete was his adora- 
tion, that he lost all discretion, and Rome rung with the 
open story of his mad infatuation. Finally the officers of 
the Vatican made known to her, that the sacred city 
could exist without her. She suddenly left her dear 
prelate, who, since that time, has been beyond consola- 
tion.” 

“A capital bit of romance,” said Connors, somewhat 
skeptical, “ but who vouches for its truth ? ” 

“1 had it almost direct,” said Doane, “from the 
Secretary of the American Legation, who was home last 
year from Rome on a visit to his people. But that story 
is tame, compared to what she did to Demas of the 
•Comedie Francaise.” 

“Let's hear it,” said Wayland, eagerly, “you never 
mar a poor tale in the telling of it.” 

Wayland was about to go, having heard all that he 
desired, but Doane restrained him, and he reluctantly 
was almost forced to listen to a style of gossip which, in 
his opinion, was good enough for the sewing circle, but 
little fitted for intelligent men. 

“ Ouida,” said Doane, “ was more than intimate with 
Oemas, known to you all by reputation. But she fooled 
him, as she has every man who has thus far been lured 
into the magic circle of her regard. One night Demas 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


63 


was playing Falstaff in ‘ The Merry Wives of Windsor.’ 
He was of ordinary size, but made himself up as the 
‘huge hell of flesh/ by a rubber apparatus, which was 
nightly filled with air. This night the cork came out 
which held the air in the rubber affair, and almost in the 
twinkling of an eye, he dwindled to his normal size, while 
his clothing hung about him like the folds of a collapsed 
balloon. The audience broke into a roar. The curtain 
was rung down, and it was fully fifteen minutes before 
order was sufficiently restored to allow the performance 
to proceed. Next day Demas was found dead in his 
apartments, a' bullet wound in the temple. The press 
said it was chagrin. The real truth was that Ouida had 
led him on and on, until he thought she loved him. That 
night the fatal knowledge came to him that she was a 
heartless jilt, and he simply took the pistol route, with 
which to end his misery.” 

“Gentlemen,” said Connors, “you astonish me. 1 
have heard of such creatures as you paint this woman, 
but never before had the distinguished honor of a personal 
acquaintance. I do believe that a grain or two of dis- 
icount on such stuff would be wise and just to her.” 

“And yet,” said Wayland, “ what a following she has, 
despite all this. Go into the ball room, and see New 
York at her feet.” 

“New York is the greatest city in the world,” said 
Doane, “ yet it is the must easily duped.” 

“ People, in their wild desire to be entertained,” said 
Connors, “ pick and choose queer idols for worship.” 

At this juncture, unobserved, Ouida, accompanied by 
Paul, enter at the rear, but are partially concealed by 
large and rich portieres. Ouida had been searching for 


64 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


Doane, in order to soothe his wounded feelings, although 
not at fault herself. She heard herself as the subject of 
Doane's conversation, but hardly thought it would take 
the shape it did. She intended, in the midst of it, to 
burst in and turn it into something amusing at Doane’s 
expense. 

‘'The most astonishing part of it all,” said Doane,, 
“is her well-known life here in New York. At twelve,. 
Ouida, who was the natural daughter of a woman of the 
town and Albert Angelo, was a child of the street. How 
she lived, she hardly knew herself. Lovers she had by 
the score. She became a model. She would just as will- 
ingly sit nude, as attired in silks and satins. One day 
Warde discovered that she possessed talent, nay, genius, 
of a high order. She was inspired to uplift herself out of 
base conditions. She was sent abroad, where, between 
her scrapes and love affairs, she studied. The power of 
art dowered her with wondrous victories. One or two 
conceptions a year brought her a fortune. She became 
rich enough to gratify every whim. She came here three 
years ago, having lost none of her Bohemian characteris- 
tics. Society has opened its arms ; as you see, it wor- 
ships her.” 

Paul breaks away from Ouida, and confronts Doane,. 
anger and contempt leaping from, his eyes. 

“A wonderfnl'story ! Is it fully told ” said Paul. 
“ Do these gentlemen know all ? ” 

“All! ’’said Doane, “all, man Why, could more 
possibly be crowded into the life of one woman } ” 

“Yes, slanderous cur,” thundered Paul, as he slapped 
Doane’s face with his glove. “Give them the finish. 
She marries me tomorrow night.” 


CHAPTER XVIL 


AN UNCANNY WEDDING, 

The night of this strange and almost unnatural mar- 
riage had arrived. Ouida had very sensibly invited but 
few guests. Some of them were assembled in her man- 
sion. Thence, it had been arranged, they should be 
driven to the quiet and unostentatious church, where- 
Horatio Nugent would pronounce the simple words that 
would mate forever Ouido Angelo to Paul Strogoff. 

“ I don^t like this marriage,” said Mr. Salmon, the 
lawyer. “ Paul is a fool, to marry Ouida Angelo. She 
is a great artist, but no creature for wife to any man.” 

“ They love each other,” said Marie, indignantly* 
” I don’t see why they should not marry.” 

” Of course,” replied the father, “ a young girl always 
looks into the romance of the case. My experience in 
marriage settlements, and in the divorce courts, teaches 
me that a marriage of this kind never turns out well. By 
the way, how are you and young Clafton getting along ? ” 
Splendidly,” said Marie. 

” That’s good. Now you are my own sweet child. 

I am helping him court my cousin, Georgie. He 
likes her better than you ever thought he cared for me,. 
You see, father, I have never ceased to truly love Milton. 
Pray, forgive me, but I thought the best way to rid myself 
of Mr. Clafton’s attentions, was to have him fall in love 
with Cousin Georgie. He has entered into the trap beau- 


66 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


tifully, and I am spared much annoyance. Dear old dad, 
you are not mad ? ” 

I ought to be,” said Mr. Salmon, but 1 cannot help 
admiring your professional method in outwitting the old 
gentleman. Your scheme was clever, even if I am the 
victim. But think not that I will ever withdraw my 
objection to Milton.” 

I don’t expect you to,” said Marie with a deep sigh. 

Then you will give him up ? ” 

"*No,” said she, 1 won’t ask your consent. We’ll 
•slip off quietly some day when he returns, and your 
newspaper friend, Doane, will, in his journal, record an 
■elopement.” 

“ Never worry,” said Salmon, much annoyed, ” your 
Milton will never come back. He’ll get tangled up in 
Rome with some Italian beauty, and she will keep him 
abroad. These stone cutters always act that way.” 

“Father,” said the girl, almost in tears, “you are 
most unkind and most unjust,” and she left the room, 
looking for consolation. 

Paul entered about this time, for the purpose of hav- 
ing an interview with Mr. Salmon, who was his lawyer. 

“ These are the papers which the lady requested me 
to present to you. She settles her entire fortune upon 
you, giving you full power to make such disposition of the 
same as you see fit. In fact, she is most liberal,” said 
Mr. Salmon. 

“Are these the papers ? ” said Paul, as he took them 
from the hand of the lawyer. 

“ Yes, they are all pinned together.” 

Paul sat down and glanced over them. When he had 
finished their perusal, which did not take long, he tore 


A MODERN HERCULES. 67 

them up and threw the pieces in the fire, where they 
were quickly devoured by the flames. 

“ What have you done ? ” said the startled lawyer. 

Nothing,” simply said Paul. “ I refuse any gift of 
property from her. On the contrary, you know exactly 
how my affairs stand. Convey to her, by proper deeds 
and instruments, the full one-half of my fortune. The 
■cash transfer to her credit at the Chemical Bank.” 

“But, sir — “ said Salmon. 

But he was interrupted by Paul, who said: “No 
buts, sir. This is my will. Either carry out, with as 
little delay as possible, my expressed desire, or I will be 
under the painful necessity of securing the services of 
another lawyer.” 

“ I shall do as you desire, and — ” 

“Remember,” said Paul, as he left the lawyer’s pres- 
ence, “ not a word to her. I must leave you now, to pre- 
pare for the ceremony.” 

A few more guests had arrived by this time. Mr. 
Connors came, and at about the same time Olivia 
Winters, the journalist, put in an appearance in the room, 
accompanied by Marie. 

“A queer wedding,” said Olivia, “and yet it may 
turn out well.” 

“ I am glad to see you, Miss Winters. It appears that 
we alone, of all New York, have been honored by an 
invitation to the wedding.” 

“And you, my dear Connors, were invited because, 
when Doane was exuding, about Ouida, that venom 
which he cannot cut out of his nature, you alone spoke 
up for her and her noble art, and the fame she had justly 
achieved.” 


68 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


“It is entirely immaterial to me,” said Mr. Connors 
“ what she may have been. I know only this, that, in 
my judgment, she is today the grandest artist of the 
modern world, and as such, is entitled to my homage. 
As far as this marriage is concerned, she is her own mis- 
tress. She can marry whomsoever she fancies. There 
are many men in New York today, who would sell their 
souls for her.” 

“Are you one of them ? ” said Olivia. 

“ I decline to answer so leading a question,” said Mr.. 
Connors, but not ungraciously. 

“I received my summons so hastily,” said Olivia,, 
“that I am entirely ignorant of particulars. Where wilt 
the ceremony take place, and who will tie the knot ? ” 

“Dr. Nugent,” answered Marie, “and at the church 
around the corner.” 

“ I thought,” said Olivia, “that Dr. Nugent had quit 
the ministry ? ” 

“ No,” said Mr. Connors, “ but almost the same. He 
has resigned from the pulpit of the First Church.” 

“ I have understood,” said Salmon, “that he promised 
to wed them at the request of Ouida.” 

Connors, joining in again at this time, said that he had 
heard, that at one time Dr. Nugent had fallen a victim to 
the fascinating charms of the sculptress. 

“Some of the blackmailing sheets so reported,’^ 
chipped in Olivia, “ but no reputable journal fathered such 
a libel. One thing is true, this wedding will eclipse all 
sensations of the year.” 

“ I wonder how Doane will take it.? ” said Connors. 

“Badly, I think,” said Olivia. “ He was hit hard inr 
that direction. Ouida’s is the only picture 1 have ever 
seen grace his sanctum.” 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


69 


“ Nonsense,” said Salmon, the practical, “ what would 
Doane do with a wife.? He has been wedded to journalism 
50 long that he’d forget his matrimonial bonds.” 

” Men who are not journalists think such a course in 
fashion these days,” said Olivia. 

” Doane said to me the other day,” remarked Mr. 
Connors, ” that New York was getting very dull and 
commonplace ; that men were beginning, actually, to fall 
in love with their own wives.” 

“ Don’t men always love and respect their wives .? ” 
;asked Marie. 

” Your arcadian simplicity is really refreshing,” 
laughed Olivia. 

“Pray, wise one,” said Mr. Salmon, “don’t endow 
her with your superior wisdom. 1 prefer my daughter as 
5he is.” 

“ That’s the one great mistake made in our land today, 
in the rearing of children. They are allowed to grow up 
in utter ignorance of the things which, if they knew, 
would save them untold misery.” 

“ Right you are. Miss Winters,” said Mr. Connors. 
“ If I should ever be fortunate enough to marry, and be 
blessed with a boy, I should show him around and acquaint 
him with life myself.” 

“ Say and think what you will, ladies and gentlemen,” 
said Marie, with firmness, “I shall never marry a man 
unless I love him and he loves me, and it will be my fault 
if 1 do not retain his devotion.” 

“ Hold fast to that sentiment, my child,” said Con- 
ors, solemnly, “ and may faith in it never forsake you.” 

“ Our carriage is below,” said Salmon, “ let us hasten 
to the church,” and the company departed from the 
Louse. 


CHAPTER XVIIL 


THE WEDDING IN THE CHURCH. 

There are but few people who are not familiar with 
the little church around the corner. It is not only quaint 
in appearance, but its history is unique in the extreme. 
Those who paid but little attention to God and religion in 
life, were always well treated here, in death, and prince 
and pauper were alike welcome to its use. 

The bridal party arrived, and there was little of that 
absurd delay which usually characterizes the fashionable 
wedding. Soon after, the organist played one of the stock 
wedding marches, and as the bridal party appeared before 
the altar, the preacher, paler than any one had ever be- 
fore seen him, ascended the pulpit. 

He looked down upon Ouida and Paul, and as he did,, 
a mournful glance of recognition and understanding flashed 
between the preacher and the bride. Apparently, no one 
observed them. The organist ceased his touching of the 
keys, and the sound of the music died away in the dis- 
tance. Dr. Nugent made an effort to begin the ceremony, 
but something hindered him, and he had the sympathy of 
all, because they thought him ill. They little knew his 
agony. At length, by a supreme effort, he mastered 
himself. 

“ Will the bride and groom join hands.? '' he said, and 
the silence seemed full of pain. 

“Will you, Ouida Angelo, take as husband, Paul 
Strogoff, and, forsaking all others, cleave unto him, and 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


71 


honor and obey him, as long as you shall live, and until 
death shall part you? 

And the woman said, softly : “ 1 will.” 

“Will you, Paul Strogoff, take as your lawful wife,, 
this woman, Ouida Angelo, and love her, comfort, sup* 
port and protect, and, forsaking all others, cleave unto 
her as long as you shall live, and until death shall part 
you? ” 

And the man said, boldly and proudly : “I will.” 

” If any here present know aught why this marriage 
should not take place, let him speak now, or forever hold 
his peace,” and just as he spoke these words, the preacher 
himself, knowing of the empty heart the woman was 
bringing to the man, was about to speak, but his objection^ 
was registered only in his own soul. There was no spoken, 
objection. 

“ Then I pronounce you man and wife.” 

As the preacher uttered the words which united his 
rival to the woman he loved, he tottered feebly from the 
putpit. Mr. Salmon sprang to his assistance, but was 
waived away, the minister saying: “I am not well 
today.” 


CHAPTER XIX. 

THE BRIDAL CHAMBER. 

When Dr. Nugent left the church, which he did' 
quickly, his breast was filled with emotions of a conflict- 
ing nature. Reason seemed to have been displaced with. 


72 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


a mad, ungovernable rage. Why should this ignorant, 
low, base-born son of a Russian exile possess this god- 
dess.? What moral right had this usurper to loll at ease 
;in her chamber, barring out his betters of all the world .? 
-He knew that he possessed all her mighty love, and yet he 
-saw the fruit of it slipping away forever. He was seized 
with a strange, overmastering desire to prevent, at all 
hazards and at any cost, the actual consummation of the 
marriage. He struggled, wrestled, tried to fight it down, 
t)ut his feet carried him toward her house. He reached 
it before the bridal party had arrived, and, being familiar 
there, he ascended into the bridal chamber, and there 
.secreted himself. 

“ Like a thief,” he said to himself, “ I steal into this 
-now sacred apartment. Over my being creeps a deter- 
mination so desperate, that I shudder at the spectacle of 
imy own deformity. I have suffered more than mortal 
; agony. There in the church, my much-abused spirit 
almost departed from me. Where was the artist to tear 
:aside the flesh and paint the hearts as they really were .? 
fPaul, radiant and happy; Ouida, serene in the conscious- 
ness of self-imposed beauty, while I was burdened with 
■.the deepest sorrow of them all.” 

He waited, and soon Ouida entered, and threw off her 
veil and wraps. 

“ The deed is done,” she murmured, and yet I would 
it were undone. The marriage vows have been ex- 
changed, and yet Paul is as far from me as I am from 
Paradise. Strange paradox am 1. I know that Nugent’s 
-love has in it the sting of guilt, yet, through its scorching 
j-ays, I clearly see myself. Oh, what a madcap freak, to 
j-ouse the slumbering passion of my ‘ Modern Hercules,’ 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


73 


and yet the fault is all my own. And 1 must pay the 
penalty ; must tread the path of sorrow to the end. This 
is a rude awakening of my dream. I once had thought to 
greet my lord with gleaming eyes, with passion, strong 
yet tender. Tonight he comes, and 1 am full of fear and 
trembling.” 

She heard a slight noise. 

” Is that you, Paul ” 

Instead of Paul, Horatio Nugent stepped out from the 
darkness. His eye was full of strange, unnatural brill- 
iance, but his face was drawn, pinched and haggard. At 
his appearance, Ouida’s heart almost ceased to beat ; she 
was so full of horror and despair. She expected Paul at 
.almost any moment. She knew his nature when once 
aroused, and she was ashamed within herself to confess 
that she feared a collision between the two men, more for 
the sake of the preacher than for her now lawfully wedded 
husband. 

When Ouida asked if it was Paul, the preacher said : 

No, it is I, whose death you seal tonight.” 

” My God ! what brings you. here.? ” said Ouida. 

“You will not let me live,” said he, “ so 1 have come 
to end existence at your feet.” 

“And I,” commanded the woman, with wondrous 
dignity, “ pronounce against such base-born cowardice. 
You build your grief up mountain high, and then make 
•oath you stand alone.” 

“ 1 will not argue this thing with you. I am deter- 
;mined on my course.” 

“Unhappy man,” she said, with mighty pity, “do 
you think you bear all the agony of this dream ? 1, too, 

.am full of sorrow as deep and black as night.” 


74 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


Then all the more reason,” said he, desperately,. 
‘*that we should end it all together.” 

‘"Agreed,” said Ouida, and as she spoke, she handed 
him a jeweled dagger. “Waste no time,” she urged. 
“ Plunge this deep into my heart, then draw it forth and 
join me in eternity.” 

He quickly seized the proffered weapon, raised it high 
in the air, and was about to sink it into her bared breast,, 
when they heard Paul’s footsteps approaching. The 
dagger dropped from his nerveless hand. He covered his 
face with his hand, exclaiming : “ Shame upon me, that 

I, in unmanly weakness, should have entertained so 
hideous a resolve ! ” 

“Quick,” said Ouida, “to the inner chamber, and 
there remain until I can let you out unseen.’' 

He got out not a moment too soon, for upon the very 
instant of his disappearance, Paul entered the chamber of 
the bride. 

“Come, Ouida,” he said, “let me fold you to my 
breast, for tonight you have enthroned me in the king- 
dom of love.” 

“I have fulfilled my oath, that is all,” said Ouida, 
wearily, and not responsive to his enthusiasm and 
passion. 

He threw upon her a questioning glance. 

“ How changed you are,” said he. “ It seems but an 
hour agone to me, when you, with the very ecstasy of 
passion, awoke the slumbering fires within me. Tonight,, 
when you should greet me with a smile of joy, you seem 
a block of ice, whose coldness chills me with the grip of 
death.” 

“ Do not upbraid me,” she pleaded. “ 1 shall strive. 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


7Sr 


with all my might, to be faithful, grateful for your fidelity^ 
and love.” 

“ Oh, 1 see it all now,” cried Paul, delight and hope 
again springing up in his simple soul. ”You think I am; 
low and base-born, a pauper, and you despise yourself 
for having lifted me to the high plane you occupy.” 

She was about to speak, but he gave her no chance to- 
break the current of words which flowed from his lips. 

“ Oh, do not speak ; hear me out. The very day you 
made of me a God, because you said you loved me, it was 
made known to me that I was of gentle birth, rich beyond 
all imagination. 1 am not the dog, the pauper, the base- 
born wretch, but am equal in birth, in wealth and power, 
to any man who might aspire to honorable marriage with- 
you.” 

He paused, breathlessly, expecting Ouida to melt in 
delightful surprise at their good fortune. But no such 
thing happened. In his intensity, he did not observe her 
gathering anger. When he finished his story, she said 

“So, sir, you knew all this the very day I spoke to 
you ” 

“ Yes, but would not then have told it to you to save 
a tottering throne.” 

“ Then thus boldly and shamelessly,” she thundered 
forth, “ you confess deception.? ” 

“What man alive would not have remained silent,” 
said Paul, ” when speaking meant so deep a loss .? Will 
you not forgive me .? ” 

Even then he thought she would relent, and he ap- 
proached her. She waived him off, contemptuously. 

“Away ! Approach me not. You madden me,” she 
said, with frightful vehemence, “I thought that you were 


76 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


baser clay than the dull-witted fools that gathered round. 
I sighed for the pleasure of attiring those mighty limbs of 
yours, of decking you with jewels, rich and rare. I 
deemed you poor, that I might lavish gifts upon you. I 
thought you nameless, that I might envelop you with the 
mantle of my own fame and genius. You knew the 
motive, and yet, by the false pretense of silence, you 
tricked from my freakish lips that hasty declaration. 
Be gone ! Let me not look upon your face again ! ” 

The palor of death overspread his face, and he ex- 
claimed, almost piteously : ‘M do confess my sin ; yet, 
does it merit the punishment of exile? A life that’s worse 
than death ? ” 

“ Go,” she said, in tones that left no room for hope, 
ril not unsay a single word. Since you are other than 
I thought you, this marriage bed shall know you not. 
This is no place for such a husband.” 

She pointed to the door, and slowly Paul turned, and 
gradually his feet bore him away from her presence. 
When the sound of the departing tread of Paul had passed 
-away, Ouida, with a glance at the inner room, wherein 
waited her lover, she sank with a sigh upon the floor. 
Her brain reeled, and consciousness for a period com- 
pletely abandoned her being. 


CHAPTER XX. 


THE METROPOLIS FROWNS. 

After the nuptial night, Paul disappeared from the 
knowledge of men. Ouida and Horatio Nugent took up 
their lives together. New York society indulged in a 
spasm of virtuous indignation ; became monstrously 
shocked ; entered a vigorous protest, and pronounced 
upon the guilty pair the judgment of condemnation. This 
mattered not to the lovers. They could see, feel compre- 
hend, appreciate nothing but themselves, their love and 
devotion to each other. The outside world was naught 
to them. They builded their own universe, peopled with 
the inhabitants of their own imagination, and well satis- 
fied and pleased, existed in it. But New York’s frown,, 
in time, practically meant much to them. It meant the 
withdrawal of art commissions to Ouida, and the absolute 
banishment of Mr. Nugent from the practice of his pro- 
fession. As time relentlessly rolled on, their affairs grew 
complicated. She was compelled to sacrifice her art 
treasures, her valued property, her jewels, and still the^ 
awoke not from their fevered dream. The day came at 
last when poverty and want crept in and found them in 
rude, uncomfortable lodgings in a back street. By a 
strange fatality, of all her glorious possessious, Ouida had 
alone retained ‘^A Modern Hercules/^ that piece of stat- 
uary done from the form of her discarded husband. 


CHAPTER XXL 


DOANE^S EXQUISITE VENGEANCE. 

One day shortly after Ouida and Nugent had taken 
nap their residence in the slums, Mr. Connors, who had 
now become a power in directing the political destinies of 
the country, met Mr. Doane, the editor, in the vicinity of 
Ouida’s home. 

“This is a queer place, said Doane. “It rather 
surprises me to see you here.” 

“ Not more so than I am to see you in such a locality/’ 
said Mr. Connors. 

“Oh, we newspaper men go everywhere.” 

“And we politicians, too ; but honestly, what are you 
■doing here ” 

“ Well,” said Doane, rubbing his hands in grim satis- 
faction, “I don’t mind telling you; a little private 
vengeance.” 

“ Upon whom.? ” queried Connors. 

“ Ouida Angelo. You were present when I received 
•that insulting blow on her account ? ” 

“ Yes, and by heavens, you brought it on yourself.” 

“ Never mind that,” said the editor. “ I feel the sting 
yet, and while I cannot pay her back in kind, I can twist 
and probe her pride, and I’ll do it, too. She lives in that 
miserable hovel over there,” pointing to the place. “lam 
going to visit her.” 

“You astound me,” said Connors. He himself was 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


79 


bent upon the same mission, yet was not inspired by so 
ignoble a purpose. 

Doane continued : She has become an object almost 

of public pity. When the haughty creature abandoned 
her husband, almost at the altar, and began a life of 
shame with her lover, even rotten New York society 
rebelled and frowned her down.” 

“Yes, it is but too true. The world, when once 
aroused, is cold in its judgment. But 1 did not know that 
she had been so frightfully reduced.” 

“She has lost her fame, and everything,” said 
Doane. 

“All,” asked Connors, “her jewels, carriages, works 
of art.? “ 

“Yes, all except the ‘Modern Hercules.’ So far, 
nothing has induced her to part with that. I have kept 
track of her affairs, awaiting my opportunity.” 

“Doane,” appealed Connors, seriously, “I think 
there is true nobility yet in the character of that woman. 
Forego your vengeance.” 

“ Not I,” said the vindictive writer. “I am going to 
tempt her to sell the thing to me.” 

“This is the very refinement of cruelty,” said Con- 
nors, in disgust. “You should have been a Spanish 
Inquisitor. You would have stood well with Torque- 
mado.” 

“Wouldn’t you like to share the treat with me.? ” 
said Doane. 

“ No,” said Connors, and the men parted, Doane 
^oing over in the direction of the place where Ouida 
lived. 


8o 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


The once proud and queenly sculptress sat alone, alt 
pale and haggard, in her humble, ill-furnished abode, a 
prey to emotions that scorched her soul. 

“Society never pardoned me,” she thought, “my 
genius and fame, and when passion enslaved me and 
my .back was turned, the cruel jade stabbed me in a 
fatal spot. I thought I could offer defiance to custom’s 
rigid rule. I dreamed I was a queen, to whom the 
world owed obedience. I awoke, and found I was a 
woman, strong only in passionate devotion. Yet, could I 
turn back the hand of time, I would not change. Eternal 
poverty, exposure, shame, disgrace with him, is better 
than Paradise without. I have had pointed at me the 
finger of scorn, and yet upon his aching breast, 1 have 
found a consolation so deep and sweet, that it gave oblivion, 
to the taunts without.” 

Her reverie was disturbed by a knock at the door. 

“ Come in,” she said. 

Doane entered. 

“Ah,” said he, placing his glass to his eye, “can it 
be ? Do my eyes deceive me ? Ouida Angelo ! ” 

“Yes,” she said, “and what can you want with 
me.?” 

“You surely believe me,” he said, in exquisite irony 
“ when I tell you that I did not expect to find you here.? ” 

“ Then,” said she coldly, “ you will have no objection- 
to making your stay as brief as possible. You see, I am 
not in a position to properly entertain so distinguished a 
visitor.” 

“Oh, don’t let that worry you,’' said he, with cool 
impudence. “ I’ll take a seat ; you don’t mind, do you.? ” 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


8i 


I have no way of relieving myself of your presence,’^ 
said Ouida, save by invitation, as this is the only apart- 
ment at my disposal. I presume I shall be compelled to 
hear what you have to say.’’ 

“I was seeking curios,” said Doane, whose malicious 
smile revealed the fact that he was lying, and a neigh- 
bor of yours informed me that a lady, once proud and rich, 
had a very fine piece of statuary for sale. I called to see 
it, not knowing who the owner might be, and was dumb- 
founded to find it was you ! ” 

‘‘Mistaken, sir, as you usually are,” said Ouida, 
“mistaken in all your facts. There is no lady here ; only 
a woman of sorrow, one acquainted with much grief. I 
have nothing to sell, or give away.” 

“ I see a marble figure there,” said he, pointing to the 
one work of art that lent radiance and dignity, even to 
that humble abode. “ Is that your work ? ” 

“ Yes,” was the curt reply. 

“ What is it ? ” he said. 

“ 1 will not tell you.” 

“ 1 know, so you might as well.” 

“If you know,” she said, “then there is no necessity 
for me to give you any information.” 

“Let’s throw deception to the winds,” said he, un- 
masking himself. “It is ‘The Modern Hercules.’ I 
came to buy it of you.” 

“ It is not for sale.” 

“ Not for sale ! ” he said, “ when the price I’d pay for 
it would' enable you to hold up your head in the world 
again ? ” 

“Sir,” said she, filled to the quick with indignation, 
“ I want neither your gold, sarcasm, advice nor pres- 
ence.” 


82 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


“A little of each would do you good.’' 

“ You are a coward, sir,” the woman flashed out, to 
say things to me here' that you would not have dared to 
utter when wealth, power, position, all were mine.” 

“No, dear lady, not a coward, but one who enjoys 
telling the truth, even if it bites and wounds. Will you 
sell that piece of stone to me ? ” 

“Not for the wealth of Vanderbilt,” she replied. 
“ I’d rather give it to a pauper whom I respected, than to 
sell it to you for enough to buy the golden opinion of all 
men.” 

“Such a resolve shows delicate sensibility, artistic 
temperament, but a minimum of common sense. I saw 
your — ” (here even he could go but little further) “1 
mean Mr. Nugent, a few days ago, and if you still possess 
your romantic attachment for him, his pinched cheeks 
and sunken eyes, would induce you to make some little 
sacrifice for him.” 

The interview was becoming beyond endurance to 
Ouida, when, fortunately, the subject of the latter part 
of Doane’s talk — Horatio Nugent — entered the room. He 
had heard the editor’s allusion tp sacrifice. 

“ Who are you,” he cried, “ that dare talk to her of 
sacrifice for me ? The world should weep for her. 
She has, upon the altar of her affection for me, sacrificed 
a glory, which before, no woman had ever achieved upon 
the American continent.” 

Doane laughed, and Nugent, growing desperate, 
crossed over toward him, with threatening attitude. 

Ouida clung to him, begging him, for their mutual 
sake to be calm. 

“Oh, don’t restrain him,” said Doane, provokingly, 
“ he’ll cool down bye and bye.” 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


83 


“ Oh, 1 know you now,” said Nugent, “ You are from 
the upper world, a fair representative of the classes who 
set themselves up in judgment over common men.” 

“ No,” said Doane, assuming an injured air, only an 
editor, whose kindly intent has been met here by rude 
insult.” 

“ Take your intent and presence away,” said Nugent, 
^‘and at once. We want neither. You and your kind 
stand well in the eyes of the world, but we refuse to bend 
beneath your judgment.” 

“Yet,” said the editor, “ you set up a tribunal of your 
■own.” 

“Yes,” said Ouida, “the tribunal of conscience, where 
we have had our trial, pronounced sentence, and for years 
have been paying to justice the penalty we owed.” 

“ You refuse my aid ? ” said Doane. 

“It was not sought; we will not accept it,” said 
Nugent. “ We prefer starvation to your pity.” 

“Then,” said Doane, “let it not be pity, but a pure 
matter of business.” 

“We desire none with you,” said Ouida. “This 
lodging is poor, but it is our own. Go, vent your spleen 
where it may be felt. We are beyond it. We have 
passed through the vale of agony. No shaft of scorn or 
ridicule can wound us more. Leave us, we would breathe 
the untainted air.” 

And as Doane went away from the presence of his 
intended victims, it crept through his narrow brain, that 
he had not accomplished much. 

“ I could not pierce the armor of their pride and devo- 
tion. I am an ass,” said Doane to himself, and the next 
day^s editorials were permeated with great bitterness. 


CHAPTER XXIL 

OUIDA'S WELCOME VISITORS. 

Mr. Connors, while awaiting Doane’s departure from- 
the house of Ouida, happened, accidentally, to brush into- 
Olivia Winters. 

“ My friend, the politician,” she said, shaking hands. 
“ 1 am glad to see you.” 

“ I echo the sentiment,” he said. “Where have you 
been ? I missed you lately from your usual haunts.” 

“ The Tattler knows me no more. I have a magazine 
of my own.” 

“And doing well, I sincerely hope,” remarked Mr. 
Connors. 

“Largely experimental yet,” said Olivia. “I fear I 
shall have to educate the public up to the point of appre- 
ciating fearlessness. I am the freest lance today in the 
whole of New York.” 

“ I am glad of it,” said the politician. “ Society needs 
a mirror in whose sharp reflection it may know itself.” 

“People at first,” said Olivia, “were pleased, then 
amazed ; now they are mad. But they read every line, 
and from the remonstrances 1 note in other quarters, I am 
satisfied that my object is being accomplished.” 

“Where are you going ? ” said he. “ May I accom- 
pany you, so that we may finish this delightful chat ? 
You attract me. Now don’t imagine I am paying you 
some silly compliment. We both know too much for that. 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


85 


But there is something exceedingly refreshing in your 
society, especially for one who, like me, has run the 
gauntlet of ambition and emotion.” 

“ One good turn deserves another,” remarked his com- 
panion. “ I frankly admit that your society is agreeable 
to me. While you are a politician, you never fail to 
admit the truth. But I cannot let you go with me. lam 
on a mission of mercy.” 

“ That spoils all of good you previously said,” insisted 
Connors. “ Do you think that in the whirl of politics, I 
have lost all heart, and so am unfitted to be your com- 
panion, upon a deed of goodness ? ” 

No, I do not think so ill of you, but 1 am going to see 
one whom we both knew when the world was at her feet. 
To see us together might bring deeper pain to her troubled 
soul.” 

‘‘Your mission,” he said, with deep interest, “is no 
secret to me. I am here on the same errand. I just met 
Doane, who was bent on visiting her, with the idea of 
vengeance.” 

“Then you may go with me,” she assented, “and 
perhaps together we may smooth over the roughness of 
Doane’s contemptible behavior. But you must agree in 
advance to back up all I say. Come, we will go to- 
gether.” 

As they approached the house of Ouida, Connors 
began to think very seriously that Olivia would make a 
charming life companion, and resolved, then and there, to 
further cultivate so sweet and strong a personality. 

They entered the lodging together, and were more than 
cordially greeted by Ouida and Horatio. 


86 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


Welcome to you both,” said Ouida, “and you 
especially, Olivia, for you are one of the only two women 
in New York whose hand I clasp in friendship.” 

“This is indeed good of both of you,” said Horatio. 

“And I offer you both my complete attachment,” said 
Mr. Connors. 

“ In affluence,” said Ouida, “ we would not have prided 
ourselves in the devotion of kings. Today, when stripped 
of all, save humiliation, your proffer is a consolation 
preciously dear.” 

“Would to heaven, my dear Ouida,” fervently said 
Olivia, “that 1 could impregnate you with some of the 
bubbling pleasures of my life.” 

“Too late,” said Nugent, “we ourselves have spun a 
web of fate, that fast imprisons us. We cannot break the 
chain.” 

“You must not say that,” said Connors. “There is 
no mistake beyond retrieving.” 

“ Pardon me,” said Ouida, with a slight impatience, “ I 
have no faith in such a sentiment. You, who have won 
the fight, forget the weary rounds of ambition’s ladder.” 

“Yes,” said Nugent, in echo of Ouida’s thought, “we 
do not bare our souls to the insane multitude, but to you, 
dear friends, we say, that we feel that further effort to rise 
from out the pit, is vain.” 

“ May I change the subject ? ” said Olivia. 

“You certainly have my permission,” said Ouida. 

“ 1 met young Wald, the sculptor, a few days ago, and 
he inquired as to your whereabouts. I evaded him, but 
he strongly hinted that discovery of you by him would be 
to your advantage.” 

“The dishonest wretch!’’ exclaimed Ouida, angrily^ 
“ what do you think he would have had me do ? ” 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


87 


“ 1 don’t know, but I have had a very poor opinion of 
him ever since I knew that his father paid Doane 5,000 
for a flattering critique of his ‘ Goddess of Progress,’ a 
thing of no real merit. But what did he want of you ? ” 

“To create, model, carve, and in his name.” 

“I had no idea,” said Connors, “that there was such 
corruption in art circles. It is needless for us to ask your 
answer.” 

“We have sunk,” said Nugent, “to what you behold, 
but Ouida and I will cut our throats, ere she shall thus 
prostitute her divine genius.” 

“ May we not help you in some way ? ” said Olivia. 

“ Not with ostentation,” quickly spoke up Connors. 
“ Not even for yourselves, if you will have it so, but for 
the world, that should not be deprived of Ouida’s masterly 
creations.” 

At this, Ouida wept, nor was she ashamed of her 
tears. 

“ I have not heretofore, through all my misery, shed 
a single tear,” said Ouida, ‘^till this delicate offer of your 
sweet sympathy, and yet I cannot allow you to interfere 
with fate.” 

“ I have withstood the bitter hate of men,” said: 
Nugent, “ nor trembled once, but your kindness makes 
me weak, like a child. Do not be offended, but I must 
leave you. You will excuse me ” 

“Yes,” said Connors, “ if you so desire.” 

“Kind friends,” said Ouida, “take your leave now. 
Your visit has left a ray of sunshine, which Horatio and F 
will bask in long after you wend your way from this place, 
out into the busy world. Leave us alone, to work out our 
own salvation.” 


88 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


“Will you, dearest Ouida,” pleaded Olivia, “thus 
drive forth two earnest, loving friends, who desire no 
higher privilege than to stand by your side ? ” 

“Yes, my dear Ouida,” said Connors, “I am not 
without some power. The strongest effort of my life is 
yours, absolutely, to command.” 

“ No, friends, go your way. With ourselves alone we 
must conduct this mighty strife. If we should fail, all I 
ask is that, when we have shuffled off this mortal coil, 
paint us as we really were, not as biting tongues, tinged 
with malice, have told the story of our sin.” 

“Come, Mr. Connors,” said Olivia, “it would be 
sinful, upon the rough rack of this world, to longer vex 
the proud spirit of our friends.” 

“ Good-bye, dear friends,” said Connors, almost with 
affection, “and as we say au revoir, let me breathe the 
earnest prayer, that the Supreme Intelligence will lift you 
out of the valley of the shadow of grief, so that from the 
hill tops, you may behold the dawn of a new and nobler 
life.” 

They left Ouida together, admiring, yet regretting, 
that marble pride which prevented Ouida from accepting 
their proffered sympathy and aid. But a contemplation of 
the history of Ouida and Horatio, drew them closer to- 
gether, though no word of love was spoken between the 
two. Their mutual interest in the fate of their friends 
provided a bond of sympathy between the two, that bid 
fair to develop into a deeper and holier connection. 


CHAPTER XXIIL 


LAWYER SALMON MEETS DEFEAT. 

The day on which Doane and the two sweet friends 
visited Ouida was a fateful one. On that same day Law- 
yer Salmon had a most eventful conversation with his 
daughter Marie. They also met near Ouida’s place. 

“My dear child,” said he, “it is foolish for you to 
pine your young life away in grief over Milton.” 

“ Father,” said she, “it is easy for you to speak thus, 
but 1 cannot root out of my soul the love and faith therein 
enshrined. “ 

“ He has forgotten you.” 

“ 1 will not believe it,” said she stoutly, 

“How long,” persisted the father, “has it been since 
you have heard from him 

“About six months, but he may be ill. There must 
be some cause,” said Marie, fighting every inch of ground. 

“Stuff and nonsense,” said he, “why don’t you 
admit to yourself the truth. He has abandoned you. 1 
always thought you had more pride than to throw your- 
self into the arms of a man who seems so utterly to have 
forgotten you.” 

“Father,” said Marie, a tremor in her voice, “you 
wrong Milton. I fear you do not love me, or you would 
not so wound me.” 

“There, daughter, you are unjust to me. You may 
deem me hard, cold, unromantic, but I know these Royles. 


90 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


His father was as treacherous as an Indian, and I believe 
in heredity.’' 

“And 1 in love,” said Marie. 

“And I shall be silent henceforth on the subject. 
Stern though I seem, I love you, rhy darling child, and 
your happiness is my one aim in life.” 

“Then withdraw your oppostion to Milton, for I will 
only be completely happy when you shall admit him to 
your heart as a son.” 

“Ah, well,” said Salmon with a sigh, thinking of the 
girl’s dead mother, “ I will think upon it. I must now go 
in to see Ouida. 1 will not be long detained. Remain 
without until I return.” 

“I will yet win him over. God alone knows how 
I have worried over Milton’s long and extraordinary 
silence.” 

A moment and right upon the street, she felt warm 
arms around her, and a heart breathing next her own. 

“ Marie,” was all that Milton said. 

“Milton!” she exclaimed, “what a surprise to father. 
Your name has just left my lips. My father and 1 have 
just been indulging in another portion of our perpetual 
quarrel over you. Why have you been so long silent 

“Silent, dearest,” said he in surprise. 

“I have not received a line from you in six months.” 

“Then my mail must have been miscarried, for 1 
wrote almost as frequently as usual.” 

“Almost.? Why not just as often .?” she said, rather 
piqued. 

“For the last few months I have been more than 
absorbed in my work, for the annual competition at 
Rome, and moments were golden.” 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


91 


“ Did you succeed ?” she asked in breathless suspense. 

“Yes, my darling,” said Milton proudly, “I won the 
first prize, and hastened home to lay the laurels at your 
feet.” 

“I am proud of you, and I rejoice in your success. 
Now father shall come over to us,” said Marie. 

“What’s the news?” asked Milton. “ I just disem- 
barked from the Germania, jumped into a cab at the 
wharf, drove to your residence, learned that you had 
started for this place, followed, and once again behold 
your beloved face.” 

“Strange things have happened since you went 
abroad. You have heard about Ouida?” 

“Yes,” said Milton, “and it almost broke my heart. 

I owe so much to her.” 

“I am no longer jealous of her, and, dear Milton, if 
you can in any way help her I will love you more than 
ever, if possible.” 

“I need no inspiration to that end,” said Milton, “my 
own gratitude would urge and compel me to serve her.” 

“You are always generous, Milton, and I appreciate 
you all the more for it.” 

“I care not what the world may say,” said Milton,, 
“but humanity needs her, and she shall no longer be 
buried beneath the weight of a sin for which long ago she 
paid the awful penalty.” 

“I share your opinion with all my heart,” said Marie. 

Just about this time Mr. Salmon, having accomplished 
the mission which had called him to Ouida’s house, re- 
turned, and his first glance lighted upon the happy pair, 
who were totally oblivious to his presence. He turned 
down another street, with a sigh, and left them undis- 


92 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


turbed. He had met with defeat. The girl’s faith had 
triumphed. He felt he ought to succumb, yet he was 
proud and stubborn, and even yet there was opposition in 
his soul. 


CHAPTER XXIV* 

SALE OF ''THE MODERN HERCULES/' 

Almost immediately after Olivia Winters and Mr. 
Connors had departed Horatio Nugent returned to Ouida’s 
presence. 

“1 have just seen Marie Salmon and Milton Royle,” 
■said he. 

“Milton Royle,” she said, “so he has returned from 
abroad?” 

“Yes, and radiant with victory. He has won the first 
prize at Rome, and was most anxious to offer his gratitude 
to you, but 1 knew you were weary with the trials of the 
day, and begged him to come some other time.” 

“lam glad you did so. The sight of his beaming face 
would have recalled memories that would have made me 
doubly sad.” 

“Yes, the period of your triumphs before 1 cast my dark 
and grim shadow over the sunshine of your life. Woe is 
me ! ” 

“And do you think,” said Ouida, with infinite tender- 
ness, “that I regret you ?” 

“That is the very thought that sears my soul. I know 
my wrong to you. Yet through it all your brave smile 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


93 


remains. Oh! for the power to blot out the past; to 
dower you with the past.” 

“I would refuse the gift,” said Ouida, “if I could not 
share my life with you. You seem fevered tonight, love. 
Any good results today ? ” 

“No, dearest, only added torment,” said he, sadly. 
“You remember last week I left my manuscript with 
Dixon & Company, the publishers ? Their reader told 
me to call today. 1 did, with large hope and expectations. 
I was ushered into his otfice, furnished with artistic taste. 
* Your work,' said he, ‘ is clever and original, but I have 
made some inquiries about you. You are Nugent, the 
preacher, are you not, who was concerned in an escapade 
with Ouida Angelo.-*’ I could not and would not deny 
my connection with you. ‘ I like your work,’ said he, 
‘but our house cannot afford to insult society, which it 
certainly would do, if we fathered anything from your 
pen.’ With a careless nod he handed me my bundle of 
papers and dismissed me. And as I left, my heart almost 
bursting with indignation, I wished you again upon the 
very throne of art, that you might tear out my soul, and 
use it as a model for a creation, ‘ The Agony of Despair.’ ” 

“Come, Horatio, lay your head upon my knee and 
let me soothe your aching brow.” He gladly complied 
with her sweet suggestion. There was a brief silence, 
when, looking up into her face, he suddenly said: 

“Do you not think, Ouida, that you and I have fairly 
tried the world ” 

“Yes,” said she, firmly, “and surely we have reached 
the end.” 

“Think you self-destruction is ever justified.? ” 

“Have you abandoned hope so completely,” she said, 
“that you let such dark visions come into your mind.?’^ 


94 


- A MODERN HERCULES. 


"‘I am full of despair tonight,” said Nugent, gloomily. 

see naught before me save the impregnable wall of 
fate. I can neither break through its thickness, nor scale 
its height.” 

True,” said Ouida, dreamily, ‘^our lives have utterly 
failed, and if we quietly sought oblivion, the world would 
wag its tongue for one brief hour, then would speedily 
forget that we ever lived.” 

Horatio rose to his feet, and said with impressive 
solemnity : 

“I have thought that when two, through their love, 
pure in itself, had gained but grief and tears, when they 
had reached that point when starvation, both of body and 
soul, confronted them like a hideous spectre; when their 
pride had been stung by pity; when love views love with 
more than mortal agony, affording no hope; Oh, Ouida, 
beloved, I have thought ’twere best to end it all with one 
bold stroke, and solve the mystery of the fate beyond the 
stars ! ” 

“Your magnetic eloquence,” said the woman, “moves 
me beyoud expression. We cannot longer live together. 
Your agony each day kills me a million times. Mine 
utterly unnerves you. Whatever course you deem best 
ril share without a sob or tear.” 

“Then, since you are content, let us die together!” 

“I assent,” said Ouida, almost with joy. 

“No vulger death of violence,” said her lover. “I 
could not stab you with a knife, for the sight of your red, 
spurting blood, would rob me of the strength to do the 
deed upon myself. To blow your brains out with a pistol 
would be brutish. But see, here is a poison. This, in a 
small quantity of water, will provide enough to send our 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


95 


souls hence into the other world. Shall 1 prepare the 
drink ? ” 

“Yes, and without delay. The morning sun shall shed 
its earliest rays upon our soulless dust.” 

And Horatio Nugent, upon whose eloquence once hung 
breathless, countless thousands, mixed the drink, with 
firm hand, that would self-murder two human lives. 
When ready, said he : 

“ The fatal distillation is ready for the taking. Fare- 
well, my queen ! Would to God I had never crossed your 
life and dragged you to the dust ! ” 

He held ready the glass almost to his lips. 

“And you, my king, farewell ! Let me drink first. I 
would not look upon your rigid limbs, environed in the 
grip of death.” 

“ Have your wish,” he said, “ here is the cup.” 

She raised the small vessel to her lips, and was about 
to quaff its fatal contents, when Edward Salmon, the 
lawyer, broke into the room, and quickly seizing the 
horror of the situation, struck the cup from her hand, 
and it fell with a crash upon the floor. 

“ Thank God ! ” exclaimed the lawyer, “ in time to 
save you both.” 

“Sir,” said Horatio, “ may we not be permitted to die 
in peace ? ” 

“You know not,” said Ouida, “the grief you have 
prolonged.” 

“You told me yesterday to sell ‘The Modern Her- 
cules,^” said Salmon, breathlessly. “1 have found a 
purchaser.” 

“Then sell it,” said Ouida, “and dig our graves in 
decency.” 


96 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


“Sell it rather/’ said Salmon, in deepest sympathy^ 
“and with the proceeds begin life anew.” 

“ Our lives have run their course. We can no longer 
hold up beneath the world’s black frown,” said Horatio. 

“ That is the talk of the moral coward,” said Salmon, 
boldly. “Come, I know your story. Draw out your 
strength, your manhood. Fate brought me here in time. 
You both shall live to look upon this hour with shame.” 

“He is right,” said Ouida, arousing herself with 
mighty effort. “Look up, my love, we may yet wring 
from fortune’s grasp a noble fate. Where is the pur- 
chaser ? ’ ’ 

“ He awaits without. Would see the work, pay the 
price and go.” 

“Let him come,” said Ouida. 

Salmon retired for a moment, and when he returned, 
brought with him — Paul Strogoff, the sinned against ! 

He only said: “ I come not in anger, nor in ven- 
geance ; only in sorrow, to crave your pardon, that I 
live.” 

“Would that I had died ere this,” said Ouida. 

Horatio bowed his head in shame and humiliation. 


CHAPTER XXV. 

THE BEGINNING OF REDEMPTION. 

Paul Strogoff’s sorrow had ennobled him, and, though 
the opportunity came to him to humiliate those who had 
wronged him, no man, born of woman, could have acted 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


97 


with rarer delicacy, than he did upon the trying occasion 
of the purchase of The Modern Hercules.” 

His behavior at that time produced marvelous results. 
It seemed to have had the effect of tearing aside the veil 
which had blinded the sculptress and her lover, to a 
realization of the enormity of their sin. They resolved to 
be no less noble in sacrifice than Paul had been. They 
had resolved to give each other up, and the separation had 
taken place. 

Nugent at first applied to the organized churches for 
place, but they would have none of him. So he began 
his work independent, and alone. His field of operation 
lay among the poor, the forsaken, the down-trodden of 
the slums. Many a time he had gone down into the 
gutter to uplift the fallen and degraded creaturejs, who 
were abandoned by the big churches to their fate. Grad- 
ually he won for himself a distinctive place in the real 
affections of the common people. He became a familiar 
figure in the humbler quarters, and often money came to 
aid worthy causes from an unknown source. It came 
from Paul, but Horatio Nugent never knew. He became 
such a character, that when he passed through the crime 
infected portions of the city, every cut-throat, burglar 
and petty larcenist took off the hat to him. They all felt 
that there was some mighty secret locked up in his breast, 
and they respected him and it. And what were the feelings 
within him ? He had marked out his course, and was 
rigidly pursuing it, and gradually there crept over him, a 
peace, contentment, harmony of thought, that furnished a 
complete compensation for the sacrifice which he had 
made. His moral redemption was complete, but the 
struggle had been fierce and intent, and the temptation 


98 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


to swerve in the earlier days of the battle had oftentimes 
been strong and almost beyond control. He had no friends, 
save among the poor whom he served, and he led as sim- 
ple a life as that of a rustic shepherd. 

And what of Ouida ? Her life and pursuit were equally 
as noble. She had become a woman whose only object 
in life was to prevent others from falling into the sad sin 
which had darkened her life. The sensational newspapers 
had laughed at her for a while, but she bravely persisted, 
and ridicule was soon transformed into respect and admi- 
ration. Several times in the course of their philanthropic 
work they met, but no thought had come to them con- 
cerning a renewal of their former relations, and each, 
from afar, by magnetic sympathy sustained the other in 
this newer and nobler life. 


CHAPTER XXVL 

DOANE TOASTS DISEASE. 

Doane, Connors, Salmon and Wayland were all mem- 
bers of the Union League Club, and spent much of their 
time amid its comfortable, enticing environments. There 
is a common opinion prevalent, particularly in New York, 
that a society man may as well be dead as not to hold 
membership in at least one of the fashionable clubs. You 
can eat there, receive the billet doux of your lady friends, 
and if you want to gamble you can be accommodated at 
any limit of the game. If you are convivially inclined 
you can there get on a decent drunk; and perfect care will 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


99 


be taken that you do not fall into the hands of the police. 
In fact the club is a great protection to married as well as 
single men. Many a husband, who likes a quiet time 
apart from domestic influences, has had his shortcomings 
covered by the club. This sort of thing is not for the poor 
man. He takes his drink in the groggery, and woe betide 
him if he should stagger on the public highway. 

Doane, the editor, and Salmon, the lawyer, both sharp 
witted, were seated in one of the private rooms of the 
Union League. It was shortly after Salmon, apart from 
his usual custom in the profession, had been victorious in 
a celebrated murder trial. 

‘M congratulate you on your acquittal of Wilcox,” said 
Doane. 

“A hard case,” remarked Salmon. He was con- 
victed once, actually sat in the electric death chair, but 1 
got a new hearing, secured a second trial, and now the 
accused is as free as you or 1.” 

‘‘A clever victory for you, but bad for society. The 
way murderers are freed now only encourages desperate 
deeds. There would be more respect for law if there were 
fewer lawyers,” said the editor. 

Perhaps it would be better,” said Salmon, “if we 
permitted the newspapers to administer justice.” 

“How so.^” said Doane, ignoring the covert sarcasm 
of his friend. 

“I will illustrate,” said the lawyer: “About a year 
ago, in this city, a man was hacked to pieces. With him 
lived a Polish immigrant. He knew but little of the lan- 
guage or customs of the country. A sensational news- 
paper put its blood-hound-detective-reporters on the trail. 
They convicted Skinoski, only to find a few months later, 
beyond the shadow of a doubt, that a slight mistake had 


ICXD A MODERN HERCULES. 

been made, and after all they had electrocuted the wrong 
man.” 

''Yes, a little error of that kind will occur, you know,’^ 
said Doane, unfeelingly, "but then it only removed an- 
other of these filthy, foreign paupers. We have too many 
of these cattle on hand now. Not that I have any very 
great respect for the native toiler.” 

" What is your objection to him ? ” said Salmon. 

"I like the laboring man well enough in his way,” 
said Doane, "but I wish he would take a bath once in a 
while. There is too little sweat on his brow and too much 
on his hands to suit me.” 

"Yet your paper parades the fact,” said Salmon, "that 
it fights his battles.” 

"I admit that,” said Doane, with a wink, "we need 
readers and a circulation to justify us in raising advertis- 
ing rates. This is business versus sentiment.” 

Just then Mr. Wayland, the stock broker, entered,, 
and, as he took an easy chair, said, "I’ll wager that 
Doane has just said something biting. There is on his 
face a smile of derision.” 

" No, I have been making practical suggestions; that 
is all. Have been talking about the Plebeian herd, and 
must have a quart of champagne with which to cleanse 
my tongue.” 

A button within easy reach is touched; a waiter 
appears; takes the order, and soon returns with the wine. 

"It shall be on me,” said Wayland. "I can afford 
it. I made a fortune today.” 

"How.?” said Doane. "Did you bankrupt another 
railroad .? ” 

"No; like Joseph I cornered wheat, and made a mil- 
lion. Will you help me spend it.? ” 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


lOI 


“Yes. Buy a newspaper, and employ Salmon there. 
He’s a most expensive luxury,” said Doane. 

“What reason have you for always jumping on me ?” 
■said Salmon. “Did I not safely escort you through seven 
libel suits last year ? ” 

“Yes, and how much of our stock do you now hold in 
the way of fee ? ” 

“ Let’s cease this merriment,” said Wayland, in either 
real or assumed sadness. ‘‘I am in mourning. The City 
of Hamburg has just arrived, and brings the news that 
‘La Petite Goldie’ died at sea, and was buried beneath 
the cruel waves of the unfeeling Atlantic.” 

“Another $50, coo you will have to credit to profit and 
loss,” said Doane. 

“Was that another of Gould’s operative speculations.?” 
asked Salmon. 

“Yes, gentlemen, she was, and truly 1 am awfully cut 
up over the matter. 1 liked the girl very much, and be- 
sides, she had great talent.” 

“She died of what ailment.?” queried the lawyer. 

“That’s the puzzling thing,” said the broker. “Some 
dreadful, mysterious ailment, the germs of which floated 
up from the steerage. The confounded steamer should 
have been quarantined. The first thing we know New 
York will be scourged.” 

“A few thousand useless cattle will be killed off,” said 
Doane. “A good thing.” 

“ It might lay its heavy hand on you,” said Salmon. 

“ No,” replied Doane, “1 am too wicked to die. Satan 
would refuse me entrance to hell for fear I’d rival him for 
his kingdom.” 

“Anyhow,” said Wayland, “ I intend to wear crape for 
a year.” 


102 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


“ Bah,” said Doane, “the next pretty face will cure 
you. You’ll get no sympathy from us.” 

“ See here, Doane. I bought that bottle of wine as a 
bribe for sympathy, and I shall engage Salmon here to 
prosecute you for obtaining it under false pretense.” 

“This possibility of some mysterious epidemic in New 
York annoys me,” said Doane. “ I shall take occasion in 
tomorrow’s paper, to rake the health officers sharply over 
the coals,” and for some cause or other, a sickening shud- 
der passed over his frame. 

“ Does it trouble you, Doane ?” said Wayland, “if so, 
let’s go abroad.” 

“No, personally I do not fear,” said the editor. “I 
have looked pistols in the eye; have been a war corre- 
spondent, with bullets flying about like hail ; and, have in 
addition, faced an angry husband or two. A little disease 
— bah ! There are a hundred doctors who would serve 
me for the asking. Give me another drink,” and as he 
held the glass aloft, he offered a toast: “Here’s to grim 
disease,” he said, “ may it kill off ten thousand” — he did 
not finish; the wine glass fell upon the floor and was 
cracked in many particles, while Doane tottered, fainting 
in the arms of Salmon. 


CHAPTER XXVIL 


THE CURSE FALLS. 

The vague fear which outlined itself in the mind of the 
club men, had taken shape, and New York was in the grip 
of the most dreadful epidemic that had ever scourged the 
Metropolis. The curse of Heaven seemed to have laid its 
heavy hand upon the people. Hundreds dropped, day by 
day, into the very jaws of death. War may have had its 
terrors, but it could not be compared to the ravages of this 
frightful visitation. It came in the night time, touched its 
victim, and ere dawn, he sinks into the tomb. Preachers, 
nurses, doctors, have fled before its grim approach. The 
preachers who fled, did not do so out of cowardly fear, but 
because God needed them, and they did not feel like dis- 
appointing Him by taking chances on death. The sick 
take care of the dying, and the dead rot, become putrid 
and stink before the undertaker’s cart rolls around. The 
city looked a good deal like Paris did during the Reign of 
Terror. There were several persons whose lives were 
interwoven in this story, who stayed bravely at their 
respective posts of duty. Ouida Angelo, immediately 
upon the outbreak, had joined the Red Cross forces, and 
had done work of almost divine mercy and gentleness. 
Horatio Nugent, while full of pity for the human suffering 
which the epidemic had brought in its train, reveled in 
delight at the opportunity it gave him for noble and glori- 
ous work. Mr. Connors, stepping down from his proud 


104 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


place as a statesman, had done herculean work by the side 
of Olivia Winters, who had furnished the inspiration. 
Thus this great public misfortune had afforded hundreds 
the opportunity for nobility of conduct, whose lives before 
had been selfish and proud. 

During the very maddest part of the ravages of the 
curse, Olivia Winters met Mr. Connors on one of her 
tours. 

“ I am so comforted to meet you here,” she said, and 
the thought in her mind was, that she rejoiced to see him 
still alive. ‘M have just seen the last of Doane, the 
editor. His death was frightful. Dr. Simpson attended 
him. Doane, under the influence of the fever, had an 
idea that it was within the power of the doctor to save his 
life. Whining like a cur, he said : ‘ I must have my life, 

good doctor,’ and then he shrieked, ‘I cannot die — I must 
not die — I’ll give you 50,000 cash, if you will but save 
my life.’ Then, with a look of agony, he fell back upon 
his pillow, exhausted, panting like a thirsty dog. Through 
the day he incessantly kept up this cry ; sometimes laugh- 
ing in defiance, again sobbing. Then, when the doctor 
left, he muttered to himself: M’ll fool this cunning 
^sculapius. Just let me live; I’ll not give him a cent.’ 
Each mad, despairing outbreak tended only to exhaust his 
small remaining strength. When Dr. Simpson returned, 
he felt death near at hand. Doane evidently saw reflected 
in the doctor’s eye, his own fatal condition, and with 
almost superhuman strength, he lifted himself upright in 
bed. ‘ Will I die, doctor ? ’ came rattling from his parched 
throat. "There is no hope,’ said the physician. ‘Then 
bring me pen and paper,’ he said. His wish was com- 
plied with. ‘I will write,’ he said. ‘It shall be the 
bitterest screed that ever wounded quaking souls. I’ll 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


105 


-sing a song of iron bitterness ; a dying legacy to the sons 
of men. O ! I cannot hold a pen within my grasp. I 
cannot see ; all grows dark around me. So this is death.’ 
There was a sickening gurgle in his throat as he fell back 
dead.” 

“ Horrible ! horrible ! ” said Connors, his heart full of 
fear and pity for this woman, so brave and strong. 

Heaven deliver me from such another experience,” 
said Olivia. ‘M shall hear his wild laughter, the death 
rattle in his throat ; shall behold his gleaming, glaring, 
glazed eye balls to my dying day.” 

“I maybe considered uncharitable,” said Connors, 
but it is better that the world is rid of such a venomous 
spirit.” 

“That may be true, but you know, my dear Mr. 
Connors, that while he lay in that condition, one could 
not consider his character, only that he was a sufferer,” 
said Olivia. “ But did you ever see this great city in such 
^ plight before ? ” 

“Never,” he replied. “I don’t know what will be- 
come of us.” 

“ One thing has happened, that almost makes me glad 
of our great calamity.” 

“ In the name of Heaven,” he said, “ what can that 
be ? ” 

“For the opportunity it has given Horatio Nugent to 
regain his good name.” 

“ Indeed, you are right, and he has redeemed him- 
self,” he said. “ How glad I am that you and I did not 
desert him in his hour of need.” 

“ Just as a few years ago,” said Olivia, “the world 
rang with the story of their shame, so now does it smile 
and bow over their heroic conduct.” 


io6 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


“ Public opinion,” said the statesman, “begins to dis- 
gust me more than ever. It is as fickle as the wind, and 
it is not what you are that governs, but that which you 
appear to be. I shall bow to it no longer.” 

“Yet, remember what befel our friends for their 
defiance of this thing you now despise,” said Olivia. 

“You spoke of Horatio Nugent a moment ago,” he 
said. “ Let me tell you about Ouida.” 

“Go on,” she said, “but quickly, for I have much 
work before me.” 

“ From time to time,” said he, “ I heard of the deeds 
of a sweet and saint-like creature, that quietly flitted to 
and fro among the desperate wretches of your sex, who 
had fallen into the lap of sin. I heard of shop girls 
who, tempted by the lust of man, and who were about to 
fall, snatched from the very jaws of ruin. I heard of 
extreme poverty being relieved in hundreds of cases. I 
heard of reading rooms being established for poor working 
girls. 1 heard of some mysterious angel going forth upon 
these varied missions of mercy and humanity. When I 
investigated, to find out who this was, lo ! and behold ! 
Ouida Angelo. And then my heart leaped for joy.” 

“Her redemption and absolution is complete,” said 
Olivia. “ She has gone through the valley of the shadow 
of death, almost, in the course of this fight with herself.” 

“And now,” said Connors, tenderly, “is there any 
hope for me ? ” 

Her heart leaped for joy, but she still brushed aside 
the hope that was as dear to her as to him. There was 
no false modesty about her, and her open countenance 
revealed the delight that quickened her soul. 

“If,” said she, “we live through this ordeal. I’ll 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


107 


come myself, willingly, and bring the answer, woman 
though 1 am.” 

“ Did you know that Paul Strogoff was stricken down 
today ? ” said Connors. 

“Is it so?” she said, in utmost sadness. “Death 
loves a shining mark.” 

“Good-bye,” said Connors. “God grant we soon 
may meet again, under happier and safer conditions.” 

They separated, each filled with mighty anxiety for 
the other, but each too truly great and noble to allow 
personal longing to interfere with the stern duty of the 
hour. But it was not many months before their unself- 
ishness was rewarded with a happiness of pure and gentle 
nature. 


CHAPTER XXVIIL 

THE LAWYER SURRENDERS. 

Among those who felt the touch of the awful disease 
was Edward Salmon, the lawyer. For days it had its 
strong clutch upon him, but he battled bravely, and Marie 
and Milton were tireless in their tender care and solicitude. 
Most of the time he lay in fevered unconsciousness, not 
recognizing those by whom he was surrounded. Often 
death approached so near at hand that Marie shuddered 
in dread, and Milton was full of grief on her account. At 
length, however, the struggle ended in victory, and 
Edward Salmon lived. 


io8 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


When consciousness had become fully restored, and 
the danger was over, Marie had Milton go away. She 
had resolved upon her course of action. 

One day when Mr. Salmon, in his smoking jacket, 
weak and pale, sat thinking, Marie, cuddled up to him, 
and stroking his hair. He knew something was coming, 
for, like her dear, dead mother before her, that was the 
girl’s way. 

‘^Father,” she said, ‘'you have been ill, very ill, but 
thank God you have been spared.” 

“Yes,” said he, “and through your noble devotion.” 

“We did the best we could,” she said, slyly. 

“We,” he said, “what we? Did you have help ? ” 

“Yes, in your fever, you did not know, but it was 
Milton who braved all danger, and with me, sat up night 
.after night, watching your slightest movement.” 

“And I hated him so,” said Salmon. “He has heaped 
•coals of fire upon my head, and has nobly shamed me.” 

“Father, believe me, the eye of love cannot be de- 
ceived,” appealed the girl. “ You have misjudged Milton.” 

“Perhaps,” said he, “my darling, I have. I sur- 
render ! ” 

“ In a moment, for joy, she was sobbing on her father’s 
breast, and he, too, could not restrain a silent tear. 

“Bring Milton to me,” said Salmon, “he shall not 
outdo me in generosity ; if he will but love and cherish 
you as 1 have done, I’ll ask no more.” 

But a brief period elapsed and a happy trio were in 
conclave at the lawyer’s residence. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 


PAUL FOLLOWS CHRIST.— THE END. 

Paul Strogoff had developed a peculiar philosophy 
since Ouida had sent him into grief. Though singularly 
fortunate as far as this world goes, though young, though, 
of lusty strength, though possessing the ability to gratify 
every desire, he loved not life, but death. He had come- 
to the conclusion that what a man gets in life is not by 
any means sufficient compensation for the struggle through 
which he goes. If he could have folded his arms quietly 
and, passed out of human existence, he would not have 
murmured, but with perfect resignation accepted his fate. 
He was neither a physical nor a moral coward. His 
whole life had been marked by bravery, therefore he could 
not commit suicide. His fortune was being expended in. 
private charities, and many boys, struggling up from the 
gutter, wondered at his generosity. They would not have 
done so, if they had seen Paul’s early battle with the dog. 

When the scourge visited the city, Paul remained,, 
not so much for the reason that he might reach death 
as that he saw opportunities for good, useful, and 
above all, absorbing work. Like many others he for a 
time labored assiduously, and was spared, but at length 
his turn came, and he, who had worked with such devo- 
tion for others, lay sick and dying, almost bereft of atten- 
tion and care. 


no 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


At length, his servant, an old Russian retainer of the 
family, managed to procure the attendance of Dr. Simp- 
son. As soon as he saw Paul, the doctor shook his head 
■ominously. 

“ How is my master ? ” said the Russian. 

“ In the very extremity of the fever, sir.” 

“ Is there no hope ? ” asked the servant. 

“None,” said the doctor, unhesitatingly, “he will be 
dead within the hour.” 

The patient stirred uneasily. Wild dreams were flit- 
ting over his sick vision. 

“Is she here ? ” the sick man muttered. 

“ Who ? ” said the doctor. 

“ The idol of my life,” said Paul in his delirium. “ I 
deeply wronged her, to put my shadow on her life. She, 
so far above ! A star unreachable ! I may not die until 
my eyes shall rest upon her form again. Oh, Ouida, 
come ! ’ ’ 

“ The heighth of pathos,” said the doctor, softened, 
though he had witnessed before, misery untold. “ Oh, 
for a nurse to soothe his dying hours ! ” 

And, as if in answer to the doctor’s prayer, there came 
a gentle knock at the door, and Ouida Angelo entered. 

“ I heard there was a patient here,” said she. “ I am 
a volunteer nurse. Can I be of service ? ” 

“Yes,” said the doctor, and Ouida approached the 
couch of the dying man, and as she looked upon his wasted 
face, and saw death’s mark there, her face turned white 
as marble. She forget the doctor’s presence, forgot all 
the world, save that this was the completion of her pun- 
ishment, the wages of her sin. 

“ Paul ! ” she said. 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


Ill 


“I hear her voice,” said the patient, looking up and 
instantly recognizing her. Her voice had brought him out 
of his delirium. “I knew I would not die until she 
came.” 

” Do not speak of dying,” she said, and her voice was 
mellow and soothing. “You shall live.” 

“ How good of you to speak of hope,” said the dying 
man, “ but it cannot be ; it is useless. I cannot shake off 
the icy hand of death. Pray, forgive me that 1 crossed 
your life. 1 loved you well. You did not know, but now 
I kiss your hand and die.” 

“Forgive you,” she said, “that is mockery. Upon 
my bended knees, I ask your forgiveness,” and the 
woman, her pride all gone, sank upon her knees by the 
bedside of the husband she had so deeply wronged. 

“If this be your wish,” he gently said, “my dying 
soul confers the gift. Is there not near some man of God, 
to offer up a prayer for me ” 

“ You need no mediator,” she said, lifting up her head, 
“your life has been a constant prayer.” 

“Procure a minister, if possible,” said the doctor, 
addressing the servant, who disappeared, and, as good 
fortune would have it, shortly returned, having accom- 
plished his mission. Fate had directed the servant to 
Horatio Nugent! 

Ouida was startled beyond expression to see him, but 
her manner was calm. 

“This dying saint,” said Ouida, “requests a prayer 
in his behalf to God.” 

The preacher approached the couch of death, but when 
his eyes beheld Paul, his soul was wrenched with agony. 

“Paul!” he exclaimed, “1 am not fit to pray for 
him.” 


II2 


A MODERN HERCULES. 


‘‘Give me your hand,” said the dying man to Horatio,, 
“and yours, Ouida.” 

Across the death bed he joined their hands. 

“This is my revenge,” said Paul. “I love you both. 
Be happy, for my sake. I forgive you. Death, thou hast 
no sting for me; no terror hath the yawning grave. I die 
in peace! ” 

And as he breathed his last, a seraphic smile lighted 
his whole countenance. The preacher’s eyes were raised 
to God, his soul was wrapped in prayer, while Ouida 
sank to the floor, her head bowed in utmost reverence. 


A 

MODERN HERClilES 


THE TALE OF A SCULPTRESS 


•..BY.,. 

MELVIN G. WINSTOCK 

OF THE 

LEADVILLE SAR 


AUTHOR OF 

'*A Western PoUiidun/' The F^Ut Horoscope/' 
''A TXrginU Romance/' Etc, 


Price : 50 Cents 
















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